


Where Best Friends Are Made

by blueberrynewt



Series: Heart Ceremonies [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bisexual James T. Kirk, Bisexual Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Domestic Fluff, Family, Fluff, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Meet-Cute, Slow Burn, holiday fluff, seriously so much fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-06-28 11:39:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 32,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19811539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueberrynewt/pseuds/blueberrynewt
Summary: Jim Kirk is working at Build-A-Bear to stay afloat during community college. Leonard McCoy isn't doing so great after the divorce, but with Joanna in town for her birthday he's sure as hell gonna make sure she has a good time. And what better place to take a five-year-old for her birthday than the nearest Build-A-Bear?





	1. Doctor Nala and Doctor Bones

**Author's Note:**

> I said I wasn't going to be doing much writing while I travel, but I got sick and read many tens of thousands of words of McKirk fic, and then I saw a Tumblr post about Build-A-Bear heart ceremonies and this had to happen.
> 
> Disclaimer 1: I've never been to a Build-A-Bear, so my descriptions are entirely based on some hasty Internet research. Please feel free to correct me.
> 
> Disclaimer 2: I'm typing this all on my phone, which means chapters will probably be short and sporadic, as well as peppered with typos. Bear with me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello please appreciate this adorable new art by my dear friend! find her @czarfleet on tumblr.

“We’re here, Papa, look look look!” Joanna tugs on his hand, craning her neck to take in the windows of the shop.

“We sure are, sweet pea.” Leonard pushes the door open and is momentarily overwhelmed by the kid-packed interior — _Build-A-Bear,_ really, what had he been thinking — but the sharp twist of uncertainty is quickly dispelled as a small form darts past him and into the store, dark curls bouncing. Right. He’d been thinking that Jo would like it, and obviously she does, so what’s there to be self-conscious about? Lots of parents his age come to Build-A-Bear with their kids.

 _Relax._ He does his best to give in to just enjoying the time with her, and is mostly successful. Once in a while, he catches himself wishing they could have done this on her actual birthday, instead of two days after, but Jocelyn’s not about to give up birthdays with her little girl. Leonard can't entirely blame his ex-wife for that.

Joanna is in her element. With the animal (a little stuffed lioness), scent (strawberry), and sound (purring in one paw, an unnerving giggle in the other) picked out, it's time for Nala to be stuffed. A young man with uncannily blue eyes handles that procedure, grinning as he shows Jo how to operate the foot pedal. At the end of the process, he holds up something small and red. “Time for the heart ceremony!”

 _Heart ceremony?_ Leonard can't help raising an eyebrow as the young man (Jim, according to his nametag) explains that a special ceremony has to be performed in order to bring Nala properly to life. Jim crouches in front of Joanna and holds out the little red heart to her. For an employee who must do this dozens of times a day, his smile seems surprisingly genuine.

Joanna, though, ducks away and wraps her arms around Leonard’s leg, suddenly shy. Leonard brushes a hand through her hair in a familiar gesture of comfort. “Hey, what's up, Jo?”

“I don't wanna, Papa,” she whines, pressing her face into his leg. “What if I mess up?”

Well. Bringing a lion to life _is_ kind of a big responsibility for a five-year-old. “You're not gonna mess up, sweetheart,” Leonard says gently, but Joanna just keeps clinging to his leg. Leonard looks up, stymied, and finds Jim watching them keenly.

“Hey, Jo,” Jim offers, with a questioning glance at Leonard. He nods slightly, and Jim goes on. “Do you think maybe your Papa could do the heart ceremony for you?”

“Now, hang on —” Leonard has gotten a glimpse of what the heart ceremony entails from the people ahead of them, and isn't sure he's up for it.

But Joanna looks up at him hopefully with big eyes and says, “Please, Papa?” and Jim gives a little smirk as he passes Leonard the heart, urging, “You heard the lady.” So Leonard takes it, raising his eyebrows when he feels it beating gently in his hand.

“You know,” he mutters, mostly to himself, “when I applied to med school, I wasn't expecting to be magically reanimating any lions.”

Jim's smirk widens. “Well, if you're more comfortable with traditional medical techniques, I bet mouth-to-mouth would do the trick,” he suggests, holding the lion out to Leonard.

Leonard just scoffs, because giving mouth-to-mouth to a stuffed lion in a public shop is decidedly _not_ on his list of priorities, and examines the heart instead. “What do I do?”

“Well,” Jim begins, eyes sparkling, “first you have to rub the heart on your head for wisdom, then your belly for friendship, your shoes for soul, and finally your own heart, for love.” His Adam’s apple bobs slightly. Leonard does as he's told, feeling increasingly foolish but aware of Jo’s upturned face, watching him. “And now to complete the ceremony, you have to spin around three times — good — then touch your toes, and then reach your arms up over your head and jump as high as you can.”

Leonard has to cheat on the _touch-your-toes_ bit, bending his knees as he stretches down, and even so the action makes his hamstrings burn like a bitch. He shoots Jim a quick glare as he straightens up, sure that the younger man is enjoying this far too much, but Jim just flicks a pointed glance toward the ceiling, and Leonard reluctantly reaches his arms up and jumps into the air.

That done, a grinning Jim slips the heart into Nala and ties off the hole in the lion’s back with a practiced gesture before showing Jo how to feel the animal's new heartbeat. Jo’s smiling again, eyes wide as she examines her new friend, and Leonard’s self-consciousness is soon forgotten in the face of her glee. His hamstrings still hurt, though, and he rubs the back of his knees with a grimace. “My poor old bones,” he gripes, and catches Jim smirking again at the remark.

The bear-building process involves several more steps and a lot of giggling. Joanna has a hard time picking out accessories, trying out a cowboy theme and some kind of mermaid/fairy mashup before settling on spectacles and a white lab coat. Leonard feels a funny twinge in his chest when she picks up a tiny stethoscope and slings it around her lion’s neck, proudly proclaiming that “now Nala’s a doctor just like you, Papa!”

Leonard pays, trying not to be too put off by the price — more than worth it for the look on Jo’s face. As they leave, he glances over his shoulder with a small smile, and finds himself looking into a pair of startling blue eyes across the room. Jim grins easily and raises a hand in farewell. Leonard manages a nod in response, then lets Jo pull him out onto the sidewalk, still bouncing with excitement.

***

Wednesday night, and Leonard can be found in the corner of one of his favorite bars, contemplating a fourth glass of bourbon with a sour expression. He spins the glass on the table, watching the surface of the liquid tilt and swirl, then looks up reflexively when someone approaches his table.

“Look at that!” exclaims the young man, plopping down across from him. “Doctor Bones himself.”

Head already somewhat fuzzy, it takes Leonard a little while to place the kid. When he does, all that comes out of his mouth is, “ _Doctor Bones?"_

Jim shrugs and takes a sip of his beer, leaving a thin mustache of foam on his upper lip. He wipes it away with his sleeve. “I didn't know your name, and I needed _something_ to call you. Jim Kirk, by the way,” he adds, raising his glass.

Leonard returns the gesture. “Leonard McCoy.”

“Hm.” Jim tilts his head, considering. “Nah, I think I'll keep calling you Bones.”

“You got somethin’ against my name?” Leonard arches an eyebrow, and Jim shrugs again.

“Nope. Just got used to thinking of you as Bones.”

Leonard scoffs, and doesn't think about the revelation that Jim has apparently been thinking about him.

“So where is Little Miss Bones tonight?” Jim asks, taking another sip. He watches Leonard with what seems like genuine interest.

“ _Joanna_ is with her mother,” Leonard says shortly. Then, because he's slightly drunk and decidedly unhappy, he allows himself to add a sullen, “In Georgia.”

“Oh.” Jim's lips purse just a little, and he scrutinizes Leonard for an uncomfortable second before letting his gaze drop to the glass of whiskey. “I'm sorry.”

“Yeah.” Leonard downs the rest of his glass and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “So,” he continues, suddenly eager for a change of subject, “what's a nice young Build-A-Bear employee like you doin’ in a dump like this?” It's hardly a dump, but _a fairly respectable and, by San Francisco standards, reasonably-priced place like this_ just doesn't have the same ring.

Jim snorts into his beer and sets it down, eyebrows raised. “Shit,” he grins, “are you hitting on me?”

“What — Jesus, no, I —” Leonard splutters, wishing he still had some bourbon in his glass. “No, for God’s sake.”

“Relax, man, I'm _teasing,_ ” Jim laughs. His expression turns a little rueful as he rubs his neck and admits, “Actually, I got stood up.”

Leonard raises both eyebrows in surprise. “Really?” he blurts, before his whiskey-laden mind can shut him up. “Who the hell would stand _you_ up?”

“Oh my God, you _are_ hitting on me.” Jim’s eyes are dancing with amusement, and Leonard slumps forward, groaning as he rests his head in his hands. He should really know better than to allow himself to talk to people after four drinks.

There's a nudge against his shin, and Leonard twitches. “Hey,” says Jim, and nudges him again. Leonard chances a glance up and finds Jim still smiling, but somehow softer. Though that could just be the alcohol. “I didn't say I wasn't interested, Bones.”

Leonard rubs his hands over his face and orders another drink.


	2. You Don't Even Know Me

Leonard’s head is pounding. His mouth is dry and sour, and his eyelids feel sticky. He's not nauseous yet, but he knows he will be if he opens his eyes or tries to move, so he stays put.

He's had worse hangovers, but this one definitely isn't doing him any favors. He notes a rough, unfamiliar fabric against his cheek, soft cushions under him, a scratchy blanket tangled around him. Feels like he's on a couch.

A voice from several feet away makes Leonard start, and his head swims. He squeezes his eyes shut and listens. “Jim,” the voice says, calm and even, “why is there a stranger on our couch?”

“Oh.” Jim's voice sounds scratchy. “That's just Bones. He, uh. He had too much to drink and I didn't know where he lived, so I brought him here.” Leonard doesn't remember that. He must've really overdone it.

“Do you know him?”

“Yeah.” There's a rustle, probably a shrug. “I mean, sort of. He was at my work the other day with his kid, and we ran into each other again at the bar. Talked for a few hours. He's good.”

“Jim.”

“I know, I know. I should've asked. But it was, like, two in the morning and I didn't want to wake you. You've got that exam today.”

A pause, then the calm voice says in a dry tone, “‘Bones’?”

“Leonard, actually.” Jim sounds like he's grinning. “He seemed like a man in need of a good nickname. Besides, when I call him that he does this thing with his eyebrow that I'm honestly starting to find pretty endearing.”

Leonard can't suppress a soft snort at that, and there’s a pause as the other two realize he's awake.

“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty,” Jim says, entirely too chipper. Leonard’s skull seems to vibrate like a gong. “There's coffee, when you feel like moving. You want cereal or eggs?”

“Mnf,” says Leonard.

“Well, let me know.” Jim shifts audibly. “Bye, Spock. Good luck on that exam.”

“Thank you,” replies the other voice, and a door scrapes open, then closes with a click.

“Sorry I didn't introduce you properly,” Jim says, getting to his feet. “That's Spock. My roommate.”

“When you say roommate,” Leonard croaks, “do you mean boyfriend?” Jim was apparently waiting for a date last night, but that doesn't necessarily mean he's unattached. Leonard risks opening his eyes a crack. It makes his stomach churn for a moment, but that's all, and he squints toward Jim.

“Hah, no way.” Jim is moving around the room, maybe heading for the kitchen. Or the shower. “Not to say I haven't thought about it,” he adds, “but Spock’s not an easy guy to get close to. I think his girlfriend, Nyota, is the only one who's managed.”

Leonard grunts, and hesitantly tries sitting upright. His head spins violently and he hunches over his knees, desperately trying not to vomit. Hurling all over Jim’s couch doesn't seem like a great way to pay him back for his hospitality.

“Here.” A light touch on his shoulder, and something warm is pressed into his hands. Leonard blinks at it until it resolves into a cup of coffee. A clink of glass makes him glance up to see Jim setting a cup of water on what serves for a coffee table. It looks like an old door propped up on a couple of milk crates. “Drink up.”

Leonard grunts again, and hopes Jim understands that he means _thanks_. Apparently he does, because there's that touch on his shoulder again and Jim says, “No problem, Bones. Sit tight for a few minutes? I need a shower.”

By the time Jim emerges, hair dripping, Leonard is nearly done with his coffee. He's burned his tongue, but nonetheless feels considerably more human, and when he follows up the coffee with a swallow of water, the pounding in his head subsides further.

“You wanna take a shower?” He looks up to see Jim watching him again. When Leonard nods, he points toward a door on Leonard’s left that's standing ajar. “Towels are under the sink. The knob’s broken so you have to push it in when you turn it.”

Leonard wets his lips and manages to say, “Thanks,” as he pushes himself to his feet. Jim regards him with a quizzical half-smile.

“So,” Jim says abruptly, “cereal or eggs?” When Leonard hesitates, he quickly adds, “I'm gonna scramble some eggs for myself, it's no trouble to add a couple more to the pan.”

Leonard nods gratefully. “That sounds great.”

"There's some ibuprofen in the second drawer in there, if you want."

"Thanks."

Water on his skin feels superb, but standing up in the shower is hard, and Leonard has to lean heavily against the slightly cracked porcelain in order to stay upright. When he's as clean as he's going to get, he stumbles out and is reaching for his towel when a wave of nausea has him lurching to the toilet instead.

He throws up what feels like his entire GI tract, then retches miserably for another minute or two before he manages to stagger to his feet and rinse his mouth out in the sink. By the time he makes his way out of the bathroom, clad once more in yesterday's sweaty, whiskey-scented clothes, he's no longer nauseous, but feels hollow and scraped-out.

The smell of food leads him to a cramped kitchen, where Jim is standing over a pan of eggs. On the counter are two mismatched plates with several slices of apple each.

Jim looks up at Leonard’s approach, and offers him a winning smile. “Morning, sunshine. More coffee?” He must have heard Leonard’s heartfelt retching over the toilet, but doesn't mention it as he turns off the burner and dumps the eggs onto the plates.

“Thanks.” Leonard watches Jim pour steaming coffee into a chipped mug that looks like it might have been pilfered from a college dining hall. He takes the cup gratefully and inhales. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” Jim picks up both plates and leads the way back to the living room, where he sets them on the makeshift coffee table. It's definitely a door: there's a hole along one side where a doorknob would be.

“You know.” Leonard gestures vaguely while Jim folds up the blanket he slept under and drapes it over the back of the couch. “Takin’ care of me. You don't even know me.”

Jim shrugs, sitting on the couch and beckoning for Leonard to do the same. “What else was I gonna do, dump you on the sidewalk somewhere? Besides,” he adds, and that cheeky sparkle is back in his eyes, “I know you better than you think. You're very chatty when you're drunk.”

“Oh, Christ.” Leonard sinks onto the couch and sets down his coffee in order to bury his face in his hands. “What did I say?”

“Just moaned a lot about the divorce and the custody battle and all that,” says Jim breezily, as if that's nothing important. “To be honest, I only understood about half of it. Your accent kept getting thicker, and between that and the slurring I couldn't quite keep up.”

Leonard takes a long sip of coffee in order to avoid meeting Jim’s eyes. “Peachy.”

He can see Jim’s grin widen out of the corner of his eye. “I think you're one of the saddest drunks I've ever known,” the younger man remarks, “and I've seen _Spock_ drunk.” Jim takes a bite of his eggs and says through a mouthful, “You got anywhere you need to be today?”

Leonard frowns at a slice of apple. “Um.”

“It's Thursday,” Jim supplies helpfully.

Right. “Hospital shift at noon,” Leonard says, crunching into the apple. He pats down his pockets for his phone, and finds that it still has sixteen percent battery. It's 8:41.

“‘Kay. I'm off work today and I don't have class till one, so I'll be here, but I guess you'll want to go home and get dressed.”

Leonard looks down at himself and nods. “Yeah, I better.”

After breakfast, they carry their dishes back to the kitchen, where Jim waves off Leonard’s offer to clean up. “Don't worry about it. You still have to go home and get ready.”

Leonard wavers, his ingrained sense of manners battling with the fact that Jim is right. He's checked his location and it'll take close to an hour to get home on the bus.

“Seriously,” Jim insists, “it's fine.” He gives Leonard a searching look. “Gimme your phone.”

“What?” Leonard frowns, but complies. Jim fiddles for a minute, then hands it back. It's open to a new contact named Jim, with a number. Not a San Francisco area code, Leonard notes, and wonders where Jim is from. “Text me when you're back. I'd hate to think I went to all this trouble only for you to get run over by the BART.”

Leonard raises an eyebrow, but saves the contact and pockets the phone. Checking to make sure he has his wallet, he glances around and nods. “All right. Well. Thanks, Jim, I owe you one.”

“Anytime, Bones.” Jim gives him a grin and a pat on the shoulder. “See you around.”

“Yeah. See you.” As he makes for the door and steps out into a blue-grey morning, Leonard finds himself hoping that he will.


	3. Crash Course: Friendship

_Bones_.

Leonard unlocks his phone and looks at it for a moment before typing a reply. _I don't know why I answer to that._

 _Admit it, you love it._ He can imagine the teasing grin on Jim's face. _I'm bored_ , says the next message. _Wanna hang out_?

It's the first time Jim has suggested a face-to-face meeting in the nine days (not that anyone's counting) since Leonard woke up on his couch. They've texted a bunch, though, and even talked on the phone a couple times. It's almost like having a friend.

Leonard hesitates. _If by ‘hang out’ you mean ‘get shitfaced,’ I can't tonight. Early surgery tomorrow._

 _Nah._ Jim's reply is quicker. _I have work in the morning too. I just mean hang out. You know, microwave some popcorn and watch campy 60s tv or something._

Leonard considers that. _Sounds pretty harmless._ Famous last words, he thinks drily. _You want to come over here?_

_That would be great, Spock’s studying._

_You bring the popcorn, I'll provide beer. Anything particular you want to watch?_

_Surprise me_ , says Jim, with a little winking emoji. Leonard arches an eyebrow, then sends Jim his address and checks the fridge for beer before powering up the TV and scrolling through Netflix. He settles on something he's never heard of, but which sounds sufficiently campy based on the reviews, then sprawls out on the couch to wait.

He starts awake at the sound of the doorbell and hurries to answer it, rubbing his eyes. “Hi,” he says blearily, blinking in the evening light.

“Hi,” Jim grins, and steps past him. “Did I wake you up?”

“I, uh, mighta dozed off a bit.” He directs Jim toward the microwave, and the younger man loads two bags of popcorn inside. “You like Lagunitas?”

“Bones,” Jim replies, “I am the least picky drinker you will ever meet. I'll drink whatever you put in my hands, as long as it's not literal piss.”

“Sacrilege,” Leonard says. “Gonna have to teach you to be more discerning.” He cracks open two bottles and hands one to Jim.

Jim smirks and raises his bottle. “To cheap beer.”

“To having decent taste,” Leonard counters, raising his own bottle but not touching it to Jim's.

Jim considers. Then the microwave pings and he grins, offering, “To microwave popcorn.”

The smell of fake butter is admittedly enticing, so Leonard relents. “I can drink to that,” he agrees, and their bottles clink together.

The show isn't exactly high art, but they have a good time laughing at it, and make it through three episodes before Leonard shuts the TV off with a sigh.

“I gotta get to bed,” he says, checking the time. Just after eleven. “You good gettin’ home, or do you wanna crash here?”

Jim rubs a hand over his face. “I'd better go home. Got some homework still.”

Leonard raises an eyebrow, but refrains from commenting on Jim's questionable time management practices. Instead he asks idly, “What class?”

“Astronomy.”

Huh. “I didn't know you were a science guy.”

“I'm not,” Jim admits. “History and literature, mostly. But when I was little, I always wanted to be an astronaut, so. Couldn't not take astronomy.”

“Fair enough.” Leonard smiles and stretches. “Well, good luck with the homework. And the buses. Text me when you're home?”

“Will do,” Jim says with an answering smile. He slips on his jacket and takes a last handful of popcorn before heading for the door. “Night, Bones.”

“Night.”

When Leonard wakes at six the next morning and looks at his phone, he sees a text message waiting. He's already smiling as he opens it.

_Home safe. Hopefully you're already asleep. Sleep well, save lives, etc. Thanks for the company (and beer)._

***

They meet up about once a week after that, when their schedules allow it. Sometimes they go drinking, and often end up staggering home in the wee hours of the morning, to Jim's apartment or Leonard’s house, depending on which is closer. On these occasions, they tend to each other's hangovers and cook each other breakfast with the easy familiarity of old friends. Other times they stay in, watching old B-movies or just talking over cartons of cheap takeout.

The first couple times they hang out at Jim's, Leonard is awkward around Spock. He's not really sure what Spock (who has a tidy, old-fashioned cut to his dark hair and a smooth, pale face that matches his voice) thinks of him, and he didn't exactly get to make a good first impression. But Spock’s a bright kid, and curious, and the third time they meet they get involved in a drawn-out conversation about neurotransmitters that has Jim rolling his eyes and begging for mercy. After that, Spock and Leonard fall into a casual friendship that involves a lot of bickering and a great deal of laughter, at least on Leonard’s part. Spock doesn't laugh much, but Leonard quickly learns to recognize the wry slant of his lips and the signs of quiet amusement in his eyes.

Nyota is another revelation. Leonard isn't sure what he was expecting from Spock’s girlfriend, but the warm, quick-witted young woman who shows up for dinner one evening takes him by surprise. She and Leonard hit it off quickly, bonding over their mutual exasperation at Jim’s antics.

By the time summer rolls around, Leonard is surprised to realize that he has no less than three friends, and good ones at that. It's more than he's had in a while.

He's just getting off a criminally long shift when he gets the message. Aching from head to toe and desperate for a hot shower and a long sleep, Leonard is in the midst of peeling off his scrubs when his phone buzzes with an incoming text. Leonard shrugs on a shirt and picks up the phone, frowning in surprise when he sees the message is from Spock. They've had each other's numbers for a month or so, but haven't texted much.

 _Jim is not well_ , reads the message, and Leonard feels his insides clench with sudden concern as he jams the call button.

Spock answers immediately. “Leonard,” he says simply, but there’s an undercurrent of anxiety in his measured voice that has Leonard hurrying to pull on his jeans.

“What happened?” he asks without preamble. “Is he sick? Did he hurt himself?” Already, his mind is whirling with possibilities, each worse than the last.

A pause, then: “There was a phone call. I believe he should tell you himself. I am...unsure how to help.”

Leonard is momentarily relieved at the news that nothing is physically wrong with Jim, but that emotion is quickly eclipsed by a different kind of panic. Physical ailments he can treat; that's his job, after all. But it sounds like an emotional issue, and he's not really qualified to handle that. _I'm a surgeon, not a psychiatrist._

“I'll be right there,” he tells Spock over the phone, and hangs up.

He calls a Lyft — no way is he sitting around waiting for BART at a time like this — and tries to steady himself as they inch their way through the late-afternoon traffic. He may not be professionally equipped for this kind of crisis, but Spock didn't reach out to him as a doctor. He was looking for a friend. And Leonard knows how to be a friend, right?

The truth is, he's not sure he does. It's been a long time since he had anyone to look after except himself and occasionally Joanna, and Jim isn't a five-year-old.

When they pull up in front of the apartment building, Leonard pays hastily and tips generously before rushing to the front door. He jabs the button for Jim and Spock’s apartment, which has someone else's name on it, and is minutely relieved when Spock answers right away.

“Leonard?”

“Yeah, it's me. How is he?”

“He…” Spock trails off, and Leonard feels a fresh shiver of anxiety. “He will not talk to me. I believe your presence would be beneficial.” The door buzzes, and Leonard hurries inside and up the stairs, taking them three at a time. The door to Jim and Spock’s apartment is ajar, and Spock is standing just inside. He steps aside to let Leonard through. “He is in the bedroom,” Spock says, nodding at the door. It's mostly closed, but unlatched. Then he hesitates. “I — I am supposed to be at work in fifteen minutes, but I could —”

“Go ahead, Spock,” says Leonard, although he doesn't want to handle this without support. Spock comes from money, he knows, but ever since his parents cut him off he's been living paycheck-to-paycheck like Jim. He can't afford to miss any shifts.

Spock hesitates for another second or two, then nods. “Text me if you need anything,” he offers, and Leonard nods.

“I'll keep you updated,” he promises. “Go on.” It's a good thing the lab where Spock works is only a ten-minute walk away.

With Spock gone, Leonard makes his way to the bedroom. He knocks softly before pushing it open, wondering what exactly he's going to find.

Jim is sitting on his bed — that is, his mattress on the floor — and staring blankly across at the wall above Spock’s bed. His eyes are red-rimmed and hollow. He’s stock-still apart from his hands, which twist together in a mindless, repetitive motion that makes Leonard’s stomach turn.

“Jim?” He pitches his voice low and soothing, the way he talks to Joanna after a nightmare.

Jim doesn't turn to look at him, and his voice is frighteningly monotone when he says, “My brother’s dead, Bones.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get ready for some Angsty Jim (TM) in the next couple chapters


	4. Chamomile Tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: oodles of sad!Jim ahead

Leonard feels a thrum of appalled sympathy rush through him. Feeling totally out of his depth, he forces himself to step forward and sink onto the mattress next to Jim. He's seen plenty of bereavement in his role as a doctor, has had to deliver the news himself on a number of agonizing occasions, but has rarely had to deal with the emotional fallout from this end. _Company. The most important thing is to just be present._

“His wife, too,” Jim continues, and Leonard’s throat feels sticky. “I never met her. Their kid, Peter, he survived. I never met him either.” Jim's hands keep twisting and rubbing. “Carbon monoxide poisoning.”

 _Jesus._ He's seen that, too. Leonard gulps. “The boy —”

“Aunt and uncle on his mom's side. He'll be okay.” Jim blinks. “He's six.”

Barely older than Jo. Jesus. Leonard closes his eyes for a couple seconds. He raises a hand to Jim’s back. He flinches briefly but then stills, and there's a subtle softening of his posture that Leonard takes as encouragement. He starts rubbing, a slow, soothing motion, and Jim slumps further.

Leonard’s hand slides up to grip Jim's shoulder. “Hey,” he murmurs, swallowing again when his voice comes out too scratchy. “Why don't I take you home?” He'll be better able to take care of Jim in the familiar space of his own house. Besides, his couch is more comfortable.

Normally, Jim would have a cheeky, flirtatious response to that question. It makes Leonard’s heart clench when Jim just nods dully and says, “‘Kay.”

“You need anything?” Leonard asks as they head for the door. He keeps one arm around Jim, who leans into him. Whether for comfort or because he's having trouble staying upright, Leonard isn't sure. “Phone?”

Jim points to the coffee table, and Leonard sees the shattered remains of a phone lying in a neat pile. It looks like it's been run over by a car, or else thrown with considerable force against a wall. Maybe multiple times. Spock must have picked it up.

“Oh.” That answers that.

He pulls out his own phone and orders another Lyft. One good thing about the big city is that there are always a lot of drivers around.

Back at his own house, he settles Jim on the couch and makes a pot of chamomile tea. Old McCoy remedy for sleepless nights and bad days, and fortunately he still has most of a box left. He got it back when Jo visited, in preparation for her nightmares, and hasn't used it since she left.

Jim accepts his mug and cradles it between both hands, but barely glances at it and doesn't move to drink. Usually so animated, his movements are minimal and mechanical, and it makes Leonard feel like crying. Instead, he sits next to Jim and sips at his own mug of tea, doing his best to keep up a steady stream of calm, one-sided conversation. He keeps his tea-free hand on Jim's back — Jim thrives on touch, he knows, and he also has a sneaking suspicion that the kid didn't get much affection growing up. After a while of this, Jim takes a small sip of tea — a victory.

As the bottom of his mug becomes visible through a lens of tea, Leonard catches himself drooping. In his worry for Jim, he'd forgotten that he hasn't slept in longer than he cares to think about. He sets his mug on the coffee table and rubs a hand over his face, groaning and scrubbing at his eyes.

Jim looks over at that, the first time he's really looked at Leonard this whole time, and a little furrow of concern creases his brow. “You okay?”

Damn it, Jim's not supposed to be worrying about _him._ “Just tired,” Leonard assures him. He gestures at the mug. “Chamomile always puts me to sleep.”

Jim is still watching him. “You look like shit,” he announces. “Go to bed.”

“I'm fine.”

“When's the last time you slept?” Jim presses.

Good question. “Napped on the bus yesterday afternoon,” he tries. Really it had been barely noon, and he'd just managed to doze for a minute or two, but it's still true.

“Really slept.”

“I, uh —” he meets Jim's eyes and can't bring himself to lie. “Night before last,” he admits.

“Go the fuck to bed. I'll be fine.” Jim is clearly trying to approximate his usual confident grin, but just looks like he has to sneeze. He takes another sip of his tea, as though hoping to reassure Leonard that he's on the mend.

Jim's insistence, combined with Leonard’s growing exhaustion, wins out in the end. He digs up some old sweats and lends them to Jim, saying doubtfully, “These might fit okay.” When Jim is set up with some blankets and a spare pillow on the couch, Leonard brushes his teeth and washes his face in the sink. The shower will have to wait till morning.

He lingers in the doorway for half a minute, still reluctant to abandon his duties, until Jim shoos him away. He flips off the light and says to the darkness, “Goodnight, Jim. If you need anything —”

“Yeah.” Jim pauses. “Thanks, Bones.”

“Yeah.”

The last thing Leonard thinks as he falls into a deep sleep is that he forgot all about dinner.

***

Leonard isn’t sure, at first, what's woken him up. He squints around his room in the semidarkness, but all he can see is the glow of headlights from a passing car through his window, casting a square of light that slides across the far wall.

Then the knock on his bedroom door sounds again, tentative, and Leonard shuffles into a sitting position, instantly alert. “Jim?”

The door creaks a little on opening. Jim's silhouette is slightly hunched. “I —” His voice quavers just a little, and he pauses before saying, “I can't sleep alone.”

Shit. Leonard should have thought of that. But now is not the time to berate himself, so he just lets out a long exhale and shifts over in bed. “Bring your pillow, I've only got one.”

Jim is back a minute later, and crawls into the other side of the bed with a noise that's somewhere between a sigh and a sob. He curls up on his side facing Leonard and squeezes his eyes shut.

“Better?” Leonard asks quietly.

“Mhm.” A pause. “Thank you.”

Leonard’s whole heart goes out to him. “No problem, Jim.”

***

When Leonard wakes next, a weak morning light is filtering through the window, and his stomach is growling. Jim is still facing him, asleep but not fully relaxed, a wrinkle between his eyebrows.

Still groggy, Leonard reaches out and smooths his hand over Jim's forehead. Jim twitches, then the lines in his face relax and his breathing evens out a little. Leonard brushes a hand through Jim's hair a couple times, the way he does with Joanna, then stops himself and drags himself out of bed. Time for breakfast.

He returns to the bedroom half an hour later, with a bowl of grits, a banana, and a glass of water. Jim is still asleep, but jerks awake when Leonard lays a hand on his shoulder and says his name. “Have some breakfast.”

Jim's eyes fall shut again and he curls a little tighter.

“You gotta eat, kid. You didn't have dinner yesterday.”

Jim opens his eyes a crack. “Neither did you,” he points out.

“Yeah, and that's why I already ate my grits. Come on.”

After a moment, Jim shifts himself up in bed and allows Leonard to press the warm bowl into his hands. He meets Leonard’s gaze, frowns slightly, then (to Leonard’s inestimable relief) picks up the spoon and starts eating.

When he's confident that Jim is eating properly, Leonard gathers some clean clothes and finally takes a shower. By the time he's back, Jim's empty bowl is sitting on the dresser — next to the untouched banana — and Jim is lying down again with his eyes closed. As Leonard pauses in the doorway, Jim says without moving, “Do you have work today?”

“No.” Leonard is very glad that's true. “Nothing on the schedule except —” He breaks off.

Jim's head turns toward him, forehead creasing. “Except what?”

Leonard swallows. “I usually talk to Jo on Sundays. But I can reschedule,” he adds quickly. He isn't about to make Jim feel like an interloper.

“No, you can't fucking reschedule.” Jim's voice sounds almost angry. “Don't you dare prioritize me over your _daughter._ I'm not that important.”

 _You're so important,_ Leonard thinks. Instead he says, “I — okay. Well, let me know if you need anything. And drink some water, yeah?”

Jim's eyes flicker to the glass of water on the dresser and he picks it up. He looks at it for a moment before drinking it all in several long draughts. “Didn't realize how thirsty I was,” he remarks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I'll get you more. You wanna keep resting?” At Jim's tired nod, Leonard collects the glass and goes to refill it.

On his way to the kitchen, Leonard notices Jim's mug from last night, standing forgotten on the coffee table. He picks it up, takes it to the sink, and dumps the cold tea down the drain.


	5. Family Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's this? two chapters in one day?? heavens to betsy!

Jim sleeps for a long time. Leonard keeps himself busy with little projects throughout the day, too full of nervous energy to relax. By the time two o’clock rolls around, he's put together an IKEA bookshelf that's been gathering dust for a couple months, fixed the dripping bathroom faucet, and deep-cleaned the entire kitchen. He's also developed a galloping headache, and forces himself to drink a couple glasses of water before sitting down to talk to Joanna.

There's a message waiting when he opens the computer. He feels a familiar pinch of anxiety at seeing Jocelyn’s name on the message, even though all it says is _She's ready._

He and Jocelyn manage to keep things civil, mostly — for Jo’s sake — but let it never be said that they say more than the barest minimum to each other.

He sends back _Ready_ , and in another moment the distinctive ring of an incoming Skype call fills the room. _Maybe I should be using headphones_ , Leonard realizes as he accepts the call. Jim might still be sleeping. Then Jo’s face appears, pixelated and grinning, and Leonard forgets about everything else.

“Hi, Papa!”

“Hiya, Jo!” It's amazing how just seeing her, hearing her voice across the continent, can lift his mood so completely. “What's cookin’?”

Her grin widens. “I'm gonna go to camp this week!”

“I heard!” He feels himself matching her expression. Jocelyn had texted to work out payment for the camp in question — a two-week day camp for kids Joanna’s age, out in the country. The thought of it brings him back to his own summer camp days. “What are you gonna do there?”

Everything, by the sound of it. Ride horses, paint, swim, grow flowers, sing songs, climb trees, tell stories, and just about every other activity imaginable. A couple older kids Jo knows have gone to this camp before, so she apparently knows everything about it already. Leonard suspects that she's embellishing a little — it's unlikely that the children will actually learn how to breathe underwater or fly stunt kites. Maybe he should tell her off for lying, but he can't bring himself to ruin her smile.

 _Some father I am._ Not only is he thousands of miles away, but he can't even manage basic parenting. No wonder he lost custody.

“What are you doing today, Papa?” Joanna asks, and Leonard gives a guilty start when he realizes he's gotten distracted. No time for self-flagellation.

“Well,” he starts, then breaks off. What _is_ he doing today? Somehow, _looking after a grief-stricken college kid who's one of the only people I care about in this godforsaken city_ doesn't seem like the most appropriate answer. “Not a lot today,” he says carefully. “It's my day off, so I'm resting. I've got a friend over.”

“Like a sleepover?” she asks, bouncing a little, and Leonard winces at the thought that Jocelyn probably heard that. Then again, Joanna jumped to that conclusion so fast that Jocelyn has probably been having plenty of _sleepovers_ herself, and Leonard would be perfectly within his rights to do the same.

Not that he's planning on it.

“Something like that, yeah,” he says, doing his best to keep the mild mortification out of his voice. Time for a change of subject. “How are your friends doing?”

And she's off again, to Leonard’s vast relief. He can hardly keep up with all the drama of a five-year-old’s social life, and it's all he can do to keep track of which names belong to humans and which to dogs or chickens. He does his best, but after another ten minutes of increasingly wild and rambling anecdotes, Leonard is overwhelmed by a yawn. Last night's sleep wasn't quite enough to get him back to full throttle.

Jo catches on quickly, and the pixels of her forehead scrunch into a frown. “Are you sleepy?”

“I'm am, a little,” he admits, leaning his head on his hand. The headache is back, too. “I'm a bit behind on sleep.”

“You should eat mint chip ice cream,” Jo declares, crossing her arms. “It always makes me not sleepy anymore.”

Leonard grins. “I like that prescription, Doctor. How long should I keep taking it?”

“Till you can't eat more, or your mama tells you to stop.”

Can't argue with that. “Right you are,” Leonard agrees, and finds himself laughing aloud. _Really_ laughing, without reservation, the way only Jo can make him laugh. And maybe, once or twice, Jim.

 _Jim._ All at once he remembers the young man who may or may not be asleep in his bedroom, and his laughter dies out. It feels horribly callous to sit here and laugh about ice cream when Jim's just lost his brother.

“Are you okay, Papa?” The furrow is back between Jo’s eyebrows, and Leonard curses himself again.

“Fine, Jo,” he says, hoisting his smile back into place. “Just tired. Maybe I'd better go get that ice cream.”

She nods seriously. Ice cream is an important matter. “I gotta go help with dinner.”

“Okay, sweet pea.” Leonard watches her through the screen and wishes with all his heart he could reach out and hug her. “Bye-bye, Jo. I love you.”

“Love you! Bye-bye!” Joanna leans forward until all he can see is a blurry corner of her forehead. From experience, he knows she's planting a sloppy kiss on the computer screen, where his cheek appears to be.

He blows a kiss back, murmurs, “Have a great week at camp, darlin’,” and hangs up the call.

He takes a few moments to compose himself before getting up. Talking with Jo always leaves him with a warm glow in his chest, and hanging up puts a bitter taste in his mouth. He lets both feelings linger for a minute or two, then gets to his feet and makes for his room, intending to see how Jim is feeling about food.

He pulls up short just outside the bedroom. Through the door, he can barely make out the sound of muffled crying, and it makes his stomach twist in a wholly uncomfortable way. He’s never heard Jim cry before. _I don't know how to make this better._

He goes back to the living room and slumps onto the couch, where he stares at the scuff marks on the coffee table and pointedly does not listen for the occasional choked breath or miserable sniff from the other room. _Good sign that he's crying,_ Leonard tells himself. _Good sign._

He’s so determinedly not listening that it takes him a while to realize that the noises have stopped, and been replaced by the rattle of a doorknob and the brush of bare feet on his old wood floor. He looks up belatedly to find Jim standing next to him, watching with a quizzical expression that looks out of place on his puffy-eyed, tear-stained face.

“Mind if I sit down?” Jim asks, and his voice is scratchy but steady. Leonard shifts over to make room and clears his throat as Jim sits.

“How’re you doin’,” he manages to say, but gets the inflection wrong so that it comes out as a dour comment rather than a question.

Jim shrugs and half-smiles. “I'm okay,” he says. “But I wouldn't say no to some mint chip ice cream.”

***

Four hours later, Leonard stares at his phone and tries to pull words out of the blotchy fog of his mind. The last message that Spock sent him — _Jim is not well_ — stares back at him. In the bed beside him, Jim’s breathing is shallow and a little ragged, but relatively peaceful.

Leonard types and deletes a series of greetings before deciding to forego the niceties and stick to the facts, as well as he knows them.

 _Jim is sleeping. He's been doing that a lot. I don't think he's doing very well, but of course he won't talk about it. He's eating okay._ Briefly, he considers telling Spock that Jim cried, but he discards the idea. Jim wouldn't want him to.

Spock’s response is immediate enough that Leonard suspects he's been waiting for an update. _Is there anything I can do?_

Leonard’s thumbs hover over N and O, but he hesitates, considering. _Do you know his work schedule? Might be worth getting in touch with his manager and taking him off the next couple shifts._

 _I will do so,_ says the next bubble by Spock’s name. Then another: _Thank you, Leonard. I'm grateful that Jim has you._

Leonard looks at that message for a while, runs a thumb absently over the screen. _You too, Spock,_ he writes eventually. _Get some sleep._

_Likewise._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a couple minor edits to time because I forgot that Georgia is 3 hours ahead of California lol


	6. Distance

Leonard wakes to his painfully cheery alarm tone and swipes haphazardly at his phone to shut it off. When the noise dies, he slumps back onto his pillow and blinks blearily at the ceiling. It's too goddamn early.

A slight dip in the mattress prompts him to look sideways, where Jim is squinting up at him in the thin morning light. He looks pale, his eyes a little bloodshot. Something inside Leonard wants to shrivel up at the sight.

“I've gotta go to work, Jim,” Leonard murmurs. “You can go back to sleep. I'll make you some breakfast.”

When he comes back half an hour later, Jim seems to be asleep again. Leonard sets a plate of eggs and fruit on the dresser and jots a quick note:

_Morning, sunshine. I'll be back this evening. Help yourself to anything, except the really good liquor. Questions, comments, or concerns? Laptop’s unlocked, shoot me or Spock an email. —Bones_

_PS Sorry if your breakfast is cold by the time you wake up. You know where the microwave is._

Leonard brushes a hand through Jim's hair and hesitates, watching him. Jim makes a quiet noise in the back of his throat and the muscles around his eyes relax infinitesimally. Leonard hums thoughtfully and turns to go.

***

His job doesn't leave a lot of room for distraction, and Leonard isn't such a terrible doctor that he'd let his mind wander while he's working. Still, quiet moments crop up now and then, and each time they do — waiting for a patient to show up for an appointment, or for his sandwich to show up when he gets a chance to grab lunch — he finds his thoughts drifting back to Jim.

He knows he's not doing enough. Jim is hurting, and badly, and Leonard just doesn't know how to help. He wishes grief were something physical — a tumor he could slice out with a scalpel, a wound he could bind together with a series of neat stitches. But it's not, and all he seems to be able to do is give Jim food and let him sleep in his bed.

It's not enough. Jim deserves a better friend.

When his shift is over, Leonard is predictably exhausted, but way too tense to doze on the bus home. He stares out the window and lets the roar of the bus’s engine drown out his thoughts as the city trundles by.

At home, Leonard shuts the door behind him and leaves his shoes in the entryway, then makes a beeline for his room, dropping his satchel on the couch as he passes. He knocks softly before opening the door. “Jim?” he murmurs, and sticks his head inside.

It's empty. _Fuck_.

Leonard does a quick tour of the house to make sure Jim hasn't just sequestered himself in another room. He hasn't. On a second stop in the bedroom, Leonard notices that the sheets have been changed. He finds the other set of sheets in the washing machine, clean, and mechanically transfers them to the dryer before taking out his phone to text Spock.

_Is Jim with you?_

His phone buzzes almost as soon as he's sent the message. _No,_ says Spock. _He's not at your house?_

_I just got home and he's gone. Thought he might've gone home._

A pause. _He may have. I have been at the lab since the morning._

_Well, let me know when you get home?_

_I will._

Leonard paces around the living room, fiddling with his phone. He shoots Jim a text on the off-chance that he's gotten a new phone, and is unsurprised when the message fails to be delivered. He sends an email too, just in case.

He makes pasta and a half-assed stir-fry. He keeps his phone next to him while he eats, scrolling through news articles and jumping each time it chimes with a notification. But they're all work emails and spam, so he shakes his head and continues his nervous scrolling.

He's washing the dishes when Spock finally texts, and drops the frying pan in his haste. Wiping his hands on his pants, he picks up his phone and taps Spock’s message more times than is strictly necessary, cursing his phone's slowness in progressively more flowery language until it finally opens.

_He's not here, but he has been here today._

Leonard drops the phone back on the counter and slumps over, running his hands through his hair. He's not sure whether to be relieved. On the one hand, it's good that Jim didn't just vanish. On the other, where in hell has he gone?

His phone chimes again. Leonard raises an eyebrow in surprise when he sees that this message is from Nyota. She's started a group text with him and Spock, and sent the simple message _Jim's on campus_.

Leonard lets out a long exhale. _Thank God for Nyota Uhura._ She goes to the same community college as Jim (who’s taking a couple summer classes because he can) and works late in the campus dining hall. She's probably just getting off work.

 _Thank you,_ he writes back, and goes to the living room to collapse onto the couch. He’s shaking slightly.

It's a few minutes before Nyota’s next message. _I've got him. We're coming home._

***

Leonard doesn't hear from Jim directly for a week. Through Spock and Nyota, he learns that Jim is back at work and at school, putting on his dazzling smile and acting like everything is just fine. Both of them know him well enough not to be fooled.

After eight days, he gets a text from Jim's number that just says, _New phone, back in business._

Leonard thinks of a million things he wants to say, and exactly zero that he is actually capable of saying. In the end, he settles for _Ok. Thanks._ It's woefully inadequate, almost curt, and he kicks the leg of a table in frustration. All that accomplishes is hurting his toes.

 _Why do I do this?_ he asks nobody, and gets out a bottle of brandy.

***

Five days later, he gets another text. _The funeral is today._

Leonard sets down his coffee and grimaces at the phone. He chews his tongue for a minute before answering. _You're not going?_

 _Couldn't afford the time off, let alone the airfare,_ is Jim's first excuse. After a little while, he adds, _And I wouldn't know anyone else there._

Leonard wonders about that. Not only does Jim have a six-year-old nephew he's never met, but he doesn't think he'd know anyone at his own brother's funeral? But it's not really his business, so all he says is, _You ok?_

_Super. Are you free tonight?_

Leonard taps the side of his phone and takes another sip of scalding coffee. _Not til late._

 _I can do late,_ Jim writes quickly. _Movie at your place?_

Normally, Leonard would protest the suggestion. Sleep is precious, and staying up into the wee hours watching a movie strikes him as an irresponsible use of his time. But he's not going to say no to Jim today, especially when he hasn't seen him for two weeks. _Sure._

Over shitty popcorn and _The Big Lebowski_ that night, Leonard tries to determine how Jim is doing. He's smiling easily enough, and stuffing his face with popcorn, and at a glance seems like his usual irreverent self. But there are bags under his eyes, a subtle stiffness to his expressions that suggests otherwise. And while he jokes with Leonard as much as always, he doesn't touch him at all — no nudges in the ribs or pats on the back — and he doesn't flirt once. There's a distance between them that's never been there before, and it makes Leonard want to scream. Instead, he passes Jim another Pepsi and scolds him about rotting his teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is kind of a funky chapter because a lot of what's going on is in Jim's head, which y'all don't get to see (at least, not yet...). I'm curious how people interpret his actions and motivations here.


	7. What You Really, Really Want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big ol' shoutout to my pal reyloftw, who helped me out with the title for this chapter even though a) this isn't even her fandom and she barely knows the characters outside of my endless rambling about them, and b) she hadn't read any other chapters of this fic. I Suck Much at titles, so the help is greatly greatly appreciated.
> 
> also appreciated is her insight from our conversation around the title that Jim Kirk "is actually the lesser known sixth spice girl, Space Spice."
> 
> I am now certain that Jim sings that song under his breath a lot, and aloud whenever Bones is around.

They do their best to pick up where they left off. They start hanging out again, and Leonard is grateful for the company — grateful that Jim isn't avoiding him. But he can't figure out how to close the distance between them, and sometimes, when Jim thinks he isn't looking, Leonard catches an unfamiliar expression on his face. Wistful, maybe, and also sort of bitter.

When August begins, Leonard takes a week-long vacation to visit Georgia. He stays with his mother, relishes her warmth and her cooking, and gets to spend some quality time with Jo. And at the end of the week, he takes her back to San Francisco with him.

They're having brunch in a waterfront café on the Embarcadero when Jim calls. Leonard glances at Joanna, but she seems to be thoroughly involved in arranging the fruit on her waffle, so he picks up. “Hey, kid. What's up?”

“Today's your day off, right?”

Since he's still on vacation, every day is currently his day off. “Yeah, why? You got plans?”

“Not really.” There's a forced nonchalance to Jim's tone. “You wanna do something tonight?”

“Papa,” says Jo, and Leonard looks up to see her watching him with a small frown, a strawberry speared on her fork. “Who are you talking to?”

He hears an intake of breath over the phone. “Shit, sorry, I forgot Jo’s visiting. I — forget it.”

“No,” Leonard says quickly, before Jim can hang up. It's not like Jim to forget something like that; the fact that he did is worrying. “We can still hang out. We just have to pick a kid-friendly movie.”

“I don't want to take up your time —”

“You won't be,” Leonard insists. “She’d love to have you around.” _We both would._ “You were great with her last time you met, and she's probably tired of my company by now anyway.”

Jim hesitates, clearly still uncertain, so Leonard plays his trump card. “Hey, Jo,” he says, and holds the phone to her ear. “This is my friend Jim, do you think he should come over and watch a movie with us tonight?”

“Yeah!” she exclaims at once, eyes wide. “We can watch Moana! Have you seen Moana?” she asks into the phone.

Leonard can just make out Jim's surprised, breathless response: “No, I — I haven't. You'll, uh, have to show it to me.”

“Yeah!” Jo says again, nodding vigorously, and returns her attention to her waffle. Leonard takes the phone back.

“Can't back out now,” he points out, taking a bite of his huevos rancheros. “Can you be there at five?”

“Sure,” says Jim. There's an odd note in his voice. “Yeah, I'll be there. I — thanks.”

“Sure thing.” Leonard smiles. “See you tonight.”

***

_Does Joanna have any food allergies?_

Leonard blinks at his phone. _She doesn't do great with shellfish. Why?_

Jim doesn't answer and Leonard is quickly distracted by Jo’s whining about the snack he's given her. Apparently the carrots aren't ripe enough. Go figure.

A while later, he jumps up at a knock on the door. When he opens it, he finds Jim standing outside, balancing a stack of containers. Upon closer inspection, Leonard sees that they contain three different varieties of cookie, and he raises an eyebrow.

“What's this?”

Jim looks slightly abashed. “Well, normally I'd bring a bottle of wine or something, so. Cookies seemed like an okay alternative, and then I couldn't pick, so —” he shrugs, and the cookies wobble dangerously “— we have chocolate chip, peanut butter, _and_ snickerdoodles.”

“All the classics.” Leonard can't help smiling.

Jim returns the smile and bites his lip. “Is that okay? I probably should've asked, sorry —”

“Jim. It's great. She'll love you forever.”

He relaxes at that, and follows Leonard inside.

“Still ten minutes on the lasagna,” Leonard says apologetically, “but grab a beer and make yourself at home.”

“What? Oh, you — you don't have to feed me —”

Leonard arches his eyebrow again. “Listen, me and Jo worked hard on that lasagna. You're not allowed to refuse.”

Jim opens his mouth to respond, but his eyes slide past Leonard and he goes quiet.

“Hi!” Jo is actually bouncing as she rounds the corner into the kitchen. “I'm Joanna.”

Jim looks at her like she's just announced she's Madonna. “Hi, Joanna,” he breathes. “I'm Jim.” He swallows visibly. Jo’s gaze drifts to the boxes in Jim's arms.

“Cookies?” Her eyes widen. “Papa, can I, can I?” She bounces right over to Jim and seizes one of his hands and one of Leonard’s, looking imploringly between them. Jim is still staring in muted awe.

“Go ahead, pumpkin,” Leonard says, and is rewarded by the look of glee on her face. Jim opens all three containers and Jo seems stumped by the decision in front of her. She peers back and forth between containers, arguing with herself out loud, until Leonard tells her she can have one of each.

When he glances at Jim again, he finds that same odd, yearning expression on his face, keener and clearer this time. Like Jim is looking at something he wants with all his heart, but can't have. Leonard wonders about it, and thinks maybe — just maybe — he understands.

He cracks open beers for himself and Jim, and pours Jo a tall glass of lemonade. Then the oven timer goes off and he dishes up lasagna, and they all troop into the living room and settle themselves on the couch. Leonard hits play, and as the screen announces the various companies that were involved in the creation of the movie, Joanna raises her glass of lemonade.

“Cheers!” she says proudly.

Leonard clinks his bottle against her glass. “Cheers, Jo.”

She doesn't drink immediately, but leans forward to look around him. “ _Cheers,_ Jim!”

Jim's eyes flicker to Leonard before he looks at Jo, and his grin would make the Cheshire Cat jealous. “Cheers,” he repeats, and reaches out to knock their drinks together. Jo beams and settles back to drink her lemonade.

As Jim leans back, Leonard catches his eye and holds out his bottle with a raised eyebrow and a small smile. Jim clinks dutifully, and Leonard gives his shoulder a quick squeeze.

Jim takes a long sip of his beer, then says to the TV, “It's my brother's birthday.”

Leonard looks at him quickly, eyebrow raised, but Jim doesn't elaborate. Then the movie is starting, and Joanna shushes them both so sternly that it's impossible to do anything but obey.

Jo leans against his right side, shifting and wriggling every minute or two. When he's done with his dinner, Leonard puts an arm around her and she scoots closer, leaning her head onto his chest. After a minute, he lifts his other arm and slides it around Jim's shoulders. Jim tenses momentarily, then lets out a long, careful breath and leans into him. His eyes flicker shut for a couple seconds before he opens them to keep up with the movie.

Leonard smiles to himself and squeezes both of them a little tighter.


	8. Coping Mechanisms

Jo goes home a couple days later. Now that she's five, she can fly alone on some airlines as an unaccompanied minor, so Leonard hands her off to a friendly flight attendant and watches her all the way through security, until she rounds a corner and disappears from view.

At home, he pulls up the flight tracker and punches in her flight number, then spends the next several hours watching the little airplane crawl its way across the continent from SFO to ATL. He hovers over his phone until Jocelyn texts, confirming that Jo is home safe. Then Leonard breathes out all the air in his lungs and goes to a bar.

Three drinks in, he isn't finding the glint of the bourbon quite as enticing as usual, and frowns into his empty glass. Getting drunk usually works at times like this.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he checks it without thinking. It's an email from the airline, urging him to take some customer satisfaction survey for the chance to win a free trip to Reno. Leonard has no interest in visiting Reno, and deletes the email.

Now that his phone is out, though, it seems only natural to open the messaging app and click through to his conversation with Jim. With unfamiliar, bass-heavy music thrumming in his ears and a slight fuzz of alcohol around the edges of his mind, Leonard types,  _ What are you unto tonight? _

He squints at the message. He definitely meant to say  _ up to, _ but autocorrect got the best of him this time.

It's more than twenty minutes before Jim replies. Leonard switches to beer, and sips at it while he tries to keep track of a basketball game on the bar’s TV.

When his phone buzzes again, it takes him a few seconds to register above the general sensory overload of the bar. The light from the screen catches his eye, and he sets down his beer to read the message.

_ The breach, once more, as always. _

Jim follows up with an actual answer quickly enough.  _ Sorry, just got out of class. No plans for the rest of the night. You? _

Leonard types hastily.  _ Was trying to drown my sorrows in whiskey. Not worming wanna hang out? _

_ You're drunk. _

_ Barley. _

_ I'm coming. Where are you? _

Rather than try to remember the name of the bar, Leonard taps the “Share Location” button and returns his attention to the game. He wishes vaguely that he could remember the rules of basketball.

Jim picks him up in a car he recognizes as Nyota’s — among the four of them, she's the only one who even has a car.  _ At least there's one functional adult in the group,  _ Leonard thinks as Jim, rolling his eyes good-naturedly, nudges him into the passenger seat and shuts the door.

“So,” Jim says, sliding into the driver's seat and punching the Prius’s power button, “Jo left, huh?”

Leonard grunts and frowns out the window.

Back at Jim's apartment, Leonard trudges inside and pulls up short when two curious faces turn to watch him. Spock and Nyota are seated on either side of the coffee table, he on the couch and she kneeling on the floor, with a chessboard between them and mugs at their elbows.

“Oh, uh, hi, y'all,” Leonard says uncertainly, a little embarrassed. “Didn't know you were here, Nyota.”

“What, did you think Jim stole my car to go pick you up?” She grins at him, then beckons him over. “Come on, have a seat. We're just getting to the part of the game where Spock systematically destroys my entire army. It'll be fun.”

Leonard approaches and regards the board. “Hey,” he says, “given that I suck at chess and am also a little tispsy, can I be on your team?”

Jim snorts as he sits on the coffee table. “‘Tispsy’?”

Leonard frowns. “Did I say that? Fuck. Tisp —  _ tipsy _ . Ouch.”

Nyota laughs and pats the floor next to her. “Join me, let's lose together.”

“I'm not sittin’ on the floor, though. I'm an old man, remember? These joints ain't what they used to be.” He grabs a plastic lawn chair from the corner and drops into it. “What’re you drinkin’?” he asks, gesturing at their mugs.

“Red Zinger,” she says idly. “Spock’s got decaf jasmine. Hey, Len, think I should move this bishop?”

He tilts his head. “Not there, his knight’ll have you.”

“That's  _ my _ knight, doofus.”

“Oh. Uh, yeah. So it is. Guess that's a good plan, then. Go for it.”

Jim bounces his knees and looks like he sorely wants to give them a hint. “Hey, Bones, want any tea? Or cocoa? I'm gonna boil some water for myself.”

“Uh — sure. Tea would be great.”

“Chamomile?”

Leonard looks up at him and smiles. “Yeah. Sounds good. Thanks.”

Predictably, Leonard’s help does little to improve Nyota’s lot against Spock. After they lose, Jim takes Nyota’s place on the floor to play Spock, taking a long draught of cocoa as he settles in with a determined expression. Leonard puts the chair back in its corner and sinks onto the couch next to Spock.

Watching the two of them play chess is always fun. Spock works methodically, always strategizing farther ahead than Leonard can keep up with, even when he's sober. Jim's playing is a little more haphazard, running largely on intuition rather than logic, occasionally pulling out a brilliant and unexpected move that leaves Spock floundering. They're both superb players.

This time, Leonard is sure that Jim is going to lose — after a while of heated competition, Jim is left with just his king, one bishop, one rook, and three pawns, while Spock has all of that plus a queen, a knight, another bishop, and another couple of pawns. But Jim manages to keep Spock busy with his rook and bishop while he inches one pawn across the board, and then the pawn becomes a queen and he takes out half of Spock’s remaining pieces before he loses the queen.

It ends in a draw, both players reduced to just their kings, unable to put each other in check. Jim laughs, dancing his king around the board and singing, “You can't catch me!” until Spock insists on putting the game away. Then Jim lies back on the floor, hands behind his head, and sighs expansively. “What is a king without his subjects, anyway?”

“Less likely to be assassinated, for one thing,” Leonard offers with a grin. Nyota and Jim both chuckle, and Leonard feels very gratified.

Spock excuses himself to go to bed a little while later. Nyota kisses him goodnight, and Leonard stares at the peeling paint on the coffee-table-née-door. Jim scrubs at his hair and announces that he needs a shower.

Nyota has been sitting on the floor with her back against the couch, inches away from Spock’s legs. When he’s gone, she takes his place on the couch next to Leonard and gives him a long look. “You okay, Len?”

He shrugs.

“Joanna went back to Georgia?”

It's almost the same question Jim asked earlier, but Leonard feels much more inclined to answer this time. “Yup,” he sighs. He rubs a hand down his face. “I never get used to it.”

She nods, hums sympathetically. “You must miss her a lot.”

“Every damn minute,” he agrees quietly. Tilting his empty mug in his hands, he confesses, “It's not just that, either. I feel — I abandoned her, y’know? Things with Jocelyn went south so I just up and left, and now she's growin’ up without a dad.”

Nyota is quiet for a minute, then says, “I know what you mean.”

That's unexpected. He looks over at her, eyebrow raised. “You do?”

She meets his gaze, then looks back down with a small smile. “I have a little sister. Kamaria, or Mar, or Ria. She's…” She leans back. “She's nine years younger than me. Our parents both work a lot, so I sort of brought her up. Every time I'm away from her, it's like —” she breaks off.

“Like you definitely left the stove on, but you can't go back and there's no one you can call to turn it off?” Leonard suggests.

She looks at him again and laughs softly. “Yeah, something like that. I took a year off after high school to work, ostensibly because we needed the money. Really it was because I couldn't handle the thought of leaving her.” She looks at her knees. “But my parents were dead set on me going to college. Neither of them did, and they were so proud that I had the grades to go to a good school. So now I just spend all day in San Francisco, then commute home to San Jose every night just to get a couple minutes with Mar in the morning.”

He nods and purses his lips. “How old is she?”

“Eleven.” Nyota’s smile is fond. “She starts middle school in a couple weeks. She's so excited.”

“Jo starts first grade this year,” Leonard says with an answering smile. “You'd think she was goin’ to Narnia.” He looks at Nyota. “Your sister's lucky to have you lookin’ out for her. Even if you can't be there all the time. You should be proud of yourself, doin’ all this and carin’ for her on top of it.”

She gives him a wide smile and a knowing look. “Joanna’s very lucky to have you, too.”

He looks at his hands.

“Seriously.” She touches his shoulder. “Don't be so hard on yourself, Len. You're a great dad.”

The bitter words that jump to mind are  _ How would you know? _ But Nyota doesn't deserve that, so instead he grins and says, “And you're a great therapist. What's your major again?”

She laughs. “Communications. Minors in linguistics and engineering.”

“That explains it, then. I haven't talked about my feelings that much since couples counseling. And, well, you know how that turned out.” Her hand is still on his shoulder, and he touches it briefly. “Thanks.”

Jim emerges from the shower a couple minutes later, clad only in a towel around his waist, and makes them both scoot over so he can flop onto the couch between them.

“What'd I miss?” He props his feet up on the table. “Did you two discover the meaning of life yet, or did you just make out the whole time?”

Leonard is on the verge of scoffing, and maybe giving Jim a kick in the shin for good measure, but Nyota flashes him a grin before leaning close to Jim's ear and saying sweetly, “Wouldn't you like to know.”

Jim goes decidedly pink and gets up. 

***

Nyota drops him off at home before heading back to San Jose at the end of the night. It's not on her way, but she points out that at this time of night, it won't be much more than a fifteen-minute detour, so he doesn't argue too much.

“Goodnight, Len,” she says as he swings his legs out of the car.

“Night.” He looks back at her. “Thanks for the ride. And for, you know.”

“Yeah.” She smiles. “You too.”

On a whim, he ducks back into the car and gives her a quick kiss on the cheek. “You're a good friend, you know. Spock’s a lucky guy.” He clambers out. “Take care of yourself.”

“You too.” She smiles out at him. “I'll see you around.”

“See you.” Then she drives off, and Leonard jogs up the stairs to his empty house as the sound of her car merges into the background traffic noise of the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> behind-the-scenes trivia: when Bones said "Spock’s a lucky guy," Nyota was THIS close to saying "So is Jim." the fact that she didn't is a testament to her extraordinary self-control and strength of discipline.


	9. Make Yourselves a Home

Leonard is a disaster chef.

Oh, he's a good _cook_ , that's never been in question — you don't grow up a McCoy without learning your way around a kitchen. But when it comes to planning meals for a group, putting together a spread that will satisfy everyone, getting the timing right so that everything is warm enough or cool enough or appropriately room-temperature at the proper time — well. He's a mess.

He fishes a cobbler out of the oven and glances at the time. Shit. The slaw should've been in the fridge fifteen minutes ago at least, but he'd gotten distracted making sure the soup was simmering right and adjusting the seasoning on the chicken (and the tofu, for Spock). The cobbler will be cool by the time they get to dessert, too; he’ll have to stick it back in the oven for a few minutes to get it to the perfect temperature. Jim is bringing vanilla ice cream (French vanilla, at Leonard’s insistence — anything less would be an insult to his cobbler), and there's nothing better than a bite of warm peach cobbler with ice cream melting on top. Nyota and Spock are in charge of wine. For some goddamned reason, Leonard had insisted on doing everything else himself.

“Why in hell do I do this to myself?” he asks of nobody in particular, while he plays Food Tetris to make room in the fridge for the bowl of slaw. His eyes land on the butter, and he curses himself again for not getting out a stick earlier. It'll still be unspreadable by the time they sit down.

One Google search, several how-to articles, and a bowlful of hot water later, Leonard goes into the dining room with a plate of butter that's hopefully well on its way to softness, and discovers that he's forgotten to set the table.

“Fuck,” he says aloud, setting the plate down a little too forcefully, so that the warm glass bowl that's upside-down over the butter rattles against the porcelain. He retreats to the kitchen and is carefully balancing a stack of dishes in his arms when there's a knock on the door. He's a little proud that he doesn't drop anything.

It's Jim, with the promised ice cream and an easy grin that Leonard sort of wants to smack off his face. He settles for a terse “You're early” as Jim sidles past him in the doorway.

“Happy Labor Day to you too, Bones.” Jim pats him vaguely on the shoulder and heads for the kitchen. Leonard follows him. “It smells amazing,” Jim says appreciatively, sliding the ice cream into the freezer alongside a bottle of gin. He nods at the stack of plates and bowls on the counter. “Want me to set the table?”

Leonard teeters on the edge of saying _I can handle my own dinner party, thank you very much_ , but he has to admit that he's not doing a very good job of it right now. So he nods gratefully and sets to slicing bread instead, then tossing the green beans with their dressing (a little later than ideal, they should have more time to marinate), and finally checking that the chicken is cooked all the way through and just crisped on the outside. The soup needs just a touch more salt, but it's relatively unfussy and can stay on a low heat until Spock and Nyota arrive.

While he scrambles to get everything done, he keeps one eye on Jim, who moves around Leonard’s kitchen like it's his own. He shouldn't be surprised by that — Jim's spent plenty of time at his house, and they've cooked together on a number of occasions — but he is surprised by the small, warm tug it generates in his abdomen. He’s not sure why he should be moved by the fact that his friend knows where he keeps the wine glasses.

When the doorbell rings — Spock is a doorbell person — he leaves the kitchen to find that Jim has the table very elegantly set for four. He's even done some fancy folding with the napkins, and Leonard can't help raising an impressed eyebrow.

Jim shrugs at him, grinning. “I worked in a restaurant during high school. You learn things.”

When he answers the door, Nyota gives Leonard a warm hug and a peck on the cheek, without dropping either of the two bottles of wine she has in her hand. Spock just nods, and gives a nearly imperceptible smile as he shuts the door behind him, which is about as effusive as he gets. “Good evening,” he says, in that understated voice of his.

“Is it? I hadn't noticed,” Leonard grouses, but backpedals at Nyota’s expression. “Sorry. I'm a cranky host. It's good to see you two, really.”

“You too.” Nyota’s smile is back. She brandishes one of the wine bottles — a Chardonnay. “Do you want this in the fridge, or are we ready to eat?”

“We're ready. Well, almost. I gotta dish up a couple things, make yourselves comfortable.”

Jim disobeys that instruction and tails him into the kitchen, where he ladles soup into bowls while Leonard arranges the chicken on a platter (and the tofu on a separate plate) and gives the green beans a final toss. As they carry the food out to the table, Jim gives him a mock-offended look. “Hey, Bones, you never said it was good to see me.”

“That's cause I see too much of your ugly mug already,” Leonard replies easily, nudging Jim in the shoulder. “Wouldn't’ve even invited you if I wasn't relying on you for the ice cream.”

Jim grins. “Well, you know I'm only here for the free home cooking. Broke college student and all that. Makes a nice change from all the ramen.”

Leonard quirks an eyebrow. “Is that why you keep me around? Damn golddigger.” He claps Jim on the back as he retrieves the slaw from the fridge, and Jim laughs but doesn't spill any of the soup he's carrying.

They take their seats across from Spock and Nyota, and Leonard releases a pent-up breath as he finally relaxes a little. Nyota uncorks the wine and pours them each a glass, saying as she does so, “This is quite the spread, Len. You didn't have to go to all this trouble.”

Leonard wags his spoon at her. “Ma’am, when a Georgia boy entertains, he damn well does it right. My poor gran would be weepin’ in heaven if I ever had the gall to half-ass a meal for company.” He exaggerates his drawl, earning appreciative grins from Nyota and Jim and a slightly bemused look from Spock.

“If your grandmother is dead, Leonard,” Spock says, “I think it is unlikely that she would take much interest in your cooking.”

Nyota puts a warning hand on his arm, but Leonard just smirks over his wine glass. “Oh, yeah? And what exactly do you know about the afterlife, Spock? I could help send you there, for research.”

Spock doesn't miss a beat. “Unfortunately,” he says evenly, “I would not be in a position to communicate my findings to you. You would have to follow me yourself, and your grandmother might find murder and suicide to be more distasteful than, to use your turn of phrase, a ‘half-assed meal for company.’”

Leonard opens his mouth to say something about how his gran would have sent Spock to the next world herself if she'd ever had the misfortune to meet him. But Nyota rolls her eyes and says, “For God’s sake, eat your soup, you two. You're worse than siblings.”

They all dig into the soup, Leonard a couple seconds after the rest so that he can gauge their reactions. He’s rewarded by catching Jim's eyes nearly rolling back into his head as he takes his first spoonful.

“God,” Jim practically moans, “what is this stuff? Ambrosia?”

“Try butternut squash bisque.” Leonard tries to sound diffident, he does, but he can't help a glow of pride at the reaction.

“It really is delicious, Len,” Nyota agrees. “Do you use recipes, or does all this just happen by instinct?”

“It's a God-given gift,” Leonard grins. “And incidentally no, I'm not sharing the recipe. Not when it's just been confirmed you all just stick around for the free food.”

“Jim just sticks around for the free food, you mean. Spock and I also enjoy ogling your fantastic physique.”

“Hey,” Jim objects, “are you implying that I don't enjoy ogling Bones? Don't forget, I'm the one who found him.”

Leonard gives Spock a long-suffering look. “Were these two easier to be around when he was obsessed with her and she hated his guts?”

“Only if it is Jim's sexual advances that upset you, Doctor.”

Leonard doesn't have anything to say to that, and focuses on his soup instead.

The meal carries on about like that for an hour or so. Nyota praises everything (except the cole slaw, which she doesn't touch), Jim flirts more aggressively with each glass of wine, and Spock offers up the occasional dry comment that sends the rest of them into gales of laughter. Between their company and a little bit of alcohol, Leonard feels himself relaxing more and more as the evening goes on. He remembers to put the cobbler in the oven before clearing the table for dessert, and Jim gets the ice cream out a few minutes early so that it's just soft enough to serve.

They're all scraping their dessert bowls clean — the cobbler was very well-received, and whatever Spock might say, Leonard can definitely feel his gran’s approval from above — when his phone rings. He leans back to dig it out of his pocket, and starts to his feet when he sees the caller ID.

“Shit. I, uh, I'd better take this.” As he swipes to answer the call, he flaps a hand vaguely at the table and adds, “Don't worry about cleanup, I'll handle it. Just make yourselves at home.”

Then he hurries to his bedroom and shuts the door behind him, leaning against it as he presses the phone to his ear.

“Hi, Jocelyn. What's going on?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had way too much fun writing this chapter. partly because anxious mess!Bones is basically me, partly because banter.
> 
> also: drama tiiime


	10. Old Patterns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this chapter needs some warnings. there's a heated argument, a lot of self-doubt, lots of allusions to a highly dysfunctional marriage, and a bit of a panic attack. so if you don't feel up to that right now, maybe leave this chapter for another day.

She doesn't bother with greetings, and says without preamble, “I'm moving Joanna to a new school.”

 _So much for Southern manners,_ Leonard thinks, tipping his head back. “What? Why? She's only, what, two weeks into the semester?”

“She hates it. You know what public school funding is like here. It's making her miserable.”

He sighs. “Okay. So where are you moving her?”

“Saint Irene’s.”

“What?” He chokes. “That all-girls Catholic school? Jesus, Joss, the tuition at that place —”

“It's a good school. The best in the area. Isn't that worth it?”

He rubs a hand down his face. If there's one thing the two of them have always agreed on, it's that Jo deserves the best. Still — “Are you sure it's necessary? It's still so early, she might just be reacting to the stress of a new situation. Starting first grade is a big deal, you can't expect her to adjust right away.”

“Maybe so, _Doctor_ , and if you were here maybe we could have that conversation. But since you're not around to evaluate the situation for yourself, it's my call. I'm moving her.”

Leonard stiffens. “Okay, so we're playing dirty. Good to know where I stand. Brings back memories.”

“Don't derail this conversation, Leonard —”

“Me derail it? Fuck’s sake, you're the one who can't miss an opportunity to take a shot at me for leaving.”

“Oh, I'm _so_ sorry, was I supposed to congratulate you for that? Three cheers for running away and leaving your only child behind without her father. Hip hip hooray!”

“If you wanted me in her life so damn bad, why’d you insist on sole custody? Or was that just because you can't stand to miss an opportunity to win at something?”

“Leave your bullshit psychoanalysis at the door, Leonard. You were a deadbeat father long before the divorce. Or were you drinking so much you don't remember the way you behaved after your father —”

“Shut the _fuck_ up,” Leonard hisses. He’s starting to shake.”If you say another goddamn word about my dad —”

“You'll what? Hang up on me?” Jocelyn’s voice is rising. “How can you act like you have some kind of moral high ground here? Off on your permanent vacation in California —”

“Vacation?” He laughs, a little too high-pitched. “Oh, yeah, some vacation this turned out to be. Really swell. I oughta be thankin’ you for the divorce, actually, now I'm out here lyin’ on goddamned beaches all day while you're stuck with Jo. Lucky, lucky me.”

“I didn't make you leave Georgia. You could've stayed close, at least.”

“Oh, sure, and subject her to _this_ every time you dropped her off for a visit? Real healthy.”

“Don't start throwing around your damn PhD in psychology —”

“I don't need a PhD to know that you and me in the same state is a bad idea if we want Jo to grow up with any kind of mental stability. Though I could send you a few papers on the subject, if you're interested.”

He can hear her sharp intake of breath, followed by a measured exhale. Her voice is back to its normal volume when she says, “I've already read all the papers.”

He frowns, pauses. “You have?”

“For crying out loud, Leonard, of course I have. You think I haven't researched every possible way that our fucked-up relationship might affect our daughter?”

He slumps a little at that. “No, you're right. I'm sorry.”

There's a long pause. “Hm.” She sounds surprised. “Never thought I'd hear you say that.”

“Must be your lucky day,” he bites out, then reels his temper in a bit. _Act like a damn adult, McCoy._ “So. Saint Irene’s?”

“I've spoken to them and they have a space for her if she transfers in the next two weeks.”

“Right. Well. Mother knows best, I guess. Send me my half of the bill.”

“I'll do that.”

Neither of them says goodbye before they hang up.

The tension drains out of Leonard all at once and he slumps to the floor, back against the door. He lets his phone fall to the floor with a clatter and puts his head in his hands, trying to get the shaking under control. He counts the seconds of each breath, gradually slowing them.

There's a knock on the door and he starts, looking around. “What?”

“Bones?” says Jim's muffled voice. “It's me. You okay in there?”

“I'm —” He wants to say _I'm fine_ , but the words stick in his throat. He swallows.

“Can I come in?”

Leonard hesitates, then reluctantly gets to his feet and sits on the foot of his bed instead. “Sure.”

Jim opens the door and pauses for just a split second before coming to sit next to him. “What happened?”

“How much did you hear?”

He shrugs uncomfortably. “Not a ton. Some shouting, but it wasn't very clear through the walls. Was it Jocelyn?”

“Yeah.” He shakes his head and buries his face in his hands. “It's ridiculous. We've been divorced nearly two years, we live on opposite sides of the continent, and every time I talk to her I still wind up right where I was when we were married.”

“Sometimes it works that way,” Jim says quietly, and Leonard wonders how he knows that.

“I know. God. I know how trauma works, I've studied it plenty, but I just — _God,_ I hate it, Jim.”

“Yeah, me too.”

They look at the floor in silence for a minute or two, then Leonard mutters, “Why’d she have to call, anyway? We always text.”

Jim considers that. “It's pretty late in Georgia, right?”

Leonard checks the time. “Close to midnight.”

“Maybe she was really stressing out about this, you know, the way you do when it's late at night and you should be sleeping but your mind won't stop and it makes you sort of reckless.”

Leonard eyes him. “Whose side are you on again?”

“Oh, I —” Jim seems to crumple a little. “Yours, Bones, of course, you know that. I'm sorry. I just —”

“You were just seein’ the best in people, like you always do.” Leonard sighs, suddenly feeling very tired. “I shouldn't take it out on you.”

Jim just looks at him and pulls him into a hug, sideways and a bit awkward but warm and solid. Leonard closes his eyes and breathes deeply, sagging into Jim’s arms. Jim hums softly and rubs his back with one hand.

After a few minutes, Leonard frowns and opens his eyes. “Where are Spock and Nyota?”

“Oh, they, uh — they went home while you were on the phone. They said to say thanks again and they hope you're doing okay.”

“Christ.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I'm sorry y’all had to be there for that. Terrible timing.”

Jim shrugs.

“Hang on —” Leonard leans back. “Why didn't you go home with them?”

“Didn’t seem right to leave you alone.”

“Right.” He presses a thumb to the middle of his forehead. “Well — thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Anytime.” Jim's hand is still lingering on his shoulder, and gives a light squeeze.

“Lord, I'm beat.” Leonard pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes, then groans. “And I've still gotta clean up.”

Jim waves a hand. “No, you don't. We handled it.”

“What, all of it?” Leonard arches an eyebrow. “That was a lot of cleanup.”

“Many hands, light work, as they say. And Spock’s a speedy dishwasher.”

Leonard lies back on the bed. “I thought I specifically told you not to worry about cleaning up.”

“Did you really think we'd listen?”

“No,” he admits, “I guess that woulda been too much to hope for.”

Jim laughs and gets to his feet. “I have to get going. But first —” He grabs Leonard’s hands and draws him to his feet for another hug, better arranged this time. With his hands pressed to Leonard’s back and his chin resting on his shoulder, Jim says, “I don't know what she said to you, or what you think when you talk to her. But in case it helps to hear, you're an amazing dad, and an amazing friend. And an amazing cook, if you haven't heard that enough this evening.”

Leonard lets out a faint chuckle. “Never hurts to hear it again.”

Jim laughs in response and holds him a bit tighter. “I'm serious. We're lucky to have you. So’s Jo.”

He heaves a breath and takes a minute to compose himself before pulling away, hoping the dimness of the room will obscure any sheen of tears in his eyes. “Thanks, Jim. Really. Now get outta here so I can go to bed.”

“Sure thing, Doc.” And with a last pat on the shoulder and a sideways smile, Jim is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so I have the majority of the remainder of this fic written - it's been coming together in a very non-linear fashion over the past couple weeks as I daydream specific scenes and cobble them together - and it's taking so much self-control to post one chapter at a time and give myself time to edit and smooth things out. aaah.


	11. Be Cool, Relax

Leonard is tired. Down to his bones — nicknames aside, that's really what it feels like. Between a stressful week at work, a night or two of anxiety-riddled bad sleep, and another unpleasant exchange with Jocelyn, he's completely drained. Even so, he can't seem to settle down, can't quite convince himself to take that much-needed nap or even just lie on the couch and watch TV for a couple hours.

He needs a break. Badly. Not just a lie-around-at-home kind of break; he needs to mix things up, recalibrate somehow.

He hasn't seen Jim in over two weeks. He's taking a full course load this semester, and picking up extra shifts at work whenever he can, and their schedules haven't been matching up very cooperatively. So it's without a great deal of hope that Leonard sends the message,  _ I'm off all day tomorrow. Are you busy? _

He's almost forgotten about the message by the time Jim responds an hour later. The buzzing distracts him from yet another futile rummage through the fridge, and he lets the fridge door swing shut as he steps back to look at his phone.

_ Morning shift, off at 1. Did you have anything particular in mind? _

_ Thought maybe we could go hiking, _ Leonard types out, surprised and somehow immensely relieved at the prospect of an afternoon with Jim.  _ Marin headlands are great in the fall. Or so I've heard. _

_ Hiking? That's a thing real people actually do? _

Leonard rolls his eyes.  _ Unless I've recently become fictional. _

_ Maybe you've always been fictional. _

_ Uh-huh, and what does that say about you? _

_ Maybe I'm fictional too. Maybe the Matrix is real and all of this is an illusion. You never know, Bones. _

_ I am way too tired to have an existential crisis right now. _

_ Go to bed, then. I'll come by at 1. _

_ Can't sleep. _

_ Chamomile? _

_ On my 3rd cup. _

_ Anything particular on your mind? _

_ No, _ Leonard says automatically, then corrects himself.  _ Stuff with Jocelyn. Not worth discussing. _

He's grateful that Jim doesn't press, instead changing tack to  _ I could sing you a lullaby. _

_ Think I'll leave the singing to the professionals, thanks. _

_ :’( Way to hurt my feelings. _

_ Don't cry now, I couldn't forgive myself if you messed up that pretty face on my account. _

_ Are you drunk? _

_ No, why? _

_ You never flirt sober. _

Whoops.  _ That'll be the sleep deprivation. I'll die of embarrassment once I'm rested, don't worry. _

_ I’ll get started on my eulogy. _

_ What makes you think I want you speaking at my funeral? _

_ Pretty sure you won't be able to stop me. Since you'll be dead and all. _

Leonard grins at his phone, then is overtaken by a yawn.  _ Hey, guess what? _ he types.  _ Talking to you is so incredibly boring that I'm finally sleepy. _

_ I'm going to choose to take that as a compliment. _

_ How?? _

_ By swapping out ‘boring’ for ‘soothing.’ Go to bed. _

_ I'm going. _

_ Night, Bones. _

_ Night, Jim. _

_ *** _

Jim shows up early the next afternoon as promised, and they make a quick lunch of sandwiches before catching a bus up and across the Golden Gate. It's a clear day, though cool, and the bridge is positively postcard-worthy, the hills in the background newly green from the autumn rain. Once they're across, the view of the city over the water is almost as good.

There’s a trail that takes off from the side of the highway not far past the end of the bridge, and Leonard leads them to it. As they climb up into the headlands, he finds he already feels better: some combination of the cleaner air, the beautiful surroundings, and the physical exercise soothes his mind almost tangibly. He climbs in long strides, relishing the feeling of stretching his legs properly, and Jim complains about not being in good shape but manages to keep pace just fine.

They reach the top of a hill and stop to rest and enjoy the view. The Pacific is visible to the west, blue-grey in the distance, and to the south and east the bay fills the empty spaces between cities and farmland. From this distance, San Francisco is picturesque and static, with none of the hectic energy it has up close. The illusion is relaxing.

When Jim complains that he's hungry, Leonard tosses him a bag of trail mix. Jim picks out all the M&Ms, then, at a look from Leonard, reluctantly eats a handful of peanuts too.

“Yes, Mom,” Jim says through a mouthful, rolling his eyes.

Leonard grins. “You need your protein if you wanna grow up big and strong like me.”

Jim smirks and gives him a slow once-over. “Oh? And just how strong are you?”

He's not sure whether to blame it on the lingering sleep deprivation or the relief of finally getting some free time out of the city, but all his good judgment and careful reticence seem far away. Leonard looks Jim in the eyes (the same hue as the sky behind him), raises one eyebrow, and says, “If you're good, maybe I'll show you someday.”

Jim chokes on his peanuts and doubles over, wheezing. “Holy shit, Bones. Don't do that to me. Give a guy a chance to swallow first.”

Leonard does not make the obvious joke about swallowing, or any of the possible jokes about choking. He busies himself tying his shoe, which doesn't need it, and hopes Jim is too busy trying to breathe to notice the flush warming his cheeks.  _ Christ, McCoy, what are you playing at? _

When Jim has regained the use of his lungs, they get up and carry on, and any residual awkwardness is quickly lost to memory. There are plenty of other people out on the trails today, and Jim greets them all with his usual breezy affability, while Leonard nods at them cordially enough. Or so he hopes.

Climbing up a particularly steep stretch of trail late in the afternoon, Jim steps on a loose rock and stumbles. Leonard steadies him automatically with a hand on his back. “Easy there, darlin’.”

Jim shoots him a curious look but doesn't comment, and Leonard is in too good a mood to feel as embarrassed as he otherwise might.

They eventually manage to circle back to their starting point just as the sun is setting. Jim, somehow still full of energy, bounds ahead. “Come on, I've never walked across the bridge!”

“You're askin’ me to walk across the Golden Gate with you at sunset? Really?”

Jim rolls his eyes. “It's okay, you don't have to kiss me if you don't want to.”

“So thoughtful. How could I possibly say no?”

Once across the bridge, they catch a bus downtown and grab dinner at a little Ethiopian place Leonard’s been to once or twice. It's full night by the time they walk back to Leonard’s place, and there's a definite chill in the air.

He shivers as he unties his shoes. “Part of me just wants to curl up in bed under a tower of blankets.”

“I can think of faster ways to warm up,” Jim says with a leer, and Leonard shoves him.

“All right, I admit I walked into that one. Movie?”

“I haven't gotten to see Black Panther yet. Is it on Netflix?”

“Think so.” Leonard shivers again and yawns.

Jim gives him an appraising look. “Okay, for once I'm not saying this as a come-on, but do you want to watch the movie in bed?”

Leonard looks at him. They've shared a bed before — after Jim's brother died, and on a couple occasions when they were both too drunk to find extra blankets and pillows for the couch — but never while both in a reasonably stable mental state. Still, he  _ is _ cold, and tired, and watching a movie in bed sounds reasonably harmless and extremely comfortable. “Sure, sounds good.”

Ten minutes later they’re both lying in Leonard’s bed, gradually warming up under the covers with Leonard’s laptop propped between their laps and  _ Black Panther  _ slowly buffering. Leonard rubs his eyes and Jim looks at him again.

“You sure you're up for a movie? If you'd rather just go to sleep, I can leave.”

“Nah, it's fine. You'll just have to fill me in if I doze off.”

He makes it about halfway through the movie before he starts missing bits of it. Just short bits, at first — a line of dialogue here, the outcome of a fight there — but then he wakes up fully to find the credits rolling and Jim passed out next to him.

“Guess you were tired, too, huh?” Leonard mumbles. He has just enough wherewithal to close the laptop and set it on the floor before he slides back into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like this chapter but I'm also so nervous about it wheee


	12. Pancake Breakfast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one chapter every 12 hours is a reasonable upload schedule, right? ...right?

Leonard wakes slowly to the sensation of a warm body in his arms, hair tickling his forehead. He hums contentedly and wriggles closer, squeezing gently. This is nice, cozy, peaceful.

“Morning, sunshine,” says a very familiar voice, and Leonard’s eyes snap open to see a blurry vision of close-cropped blond hair.

“Jim,” he breathes, and hastily withdraws, rolling to the other side of the bed. “Jesus. Shit. I'm sorry.” He puts a hand to his forehead. “I'm, uh. I'm kind of a cuddly sleeper. Force of habit. Marriage and all. I'm —”

“Bones,” Jim interrupts, and Leonard glances over to see that Jim has rolled over and is watching him with a hesitant smile. “I wasn't complaining.”

“...Oh.” Leonard looks back at the ceiling.

“It was nice.”

“Right,” Leonard mumbles, and finds he desperately needs to be somewhere else. He scrambles out of bed and into the bathroom, where he brushes his teeth and takes a quick shower before making for the living room. He stares out a window and tries not to think about how much his heart is pounding. His breathing is shallow, his hands twitchy.

He stops breathing entirely when a pair of arms slides around his waist from behind. A chin rests lightly on his shoulder, and Leonard goes statue-still, hands frozen at his sides.

“Uh,” he says, mouth very dry. “What are you doin’?”

He can feel the slight pressure of Jim's slow inhale against his back. His hair against Leonard’s cheek is damp. “Trying something out,” Jim murmurs. “What do you think?”

Leonard forces some air into his lungs. “I —” He clears his throat. “I think. We should make breakfast.”

He doesn't dare wonder what the little puff of air that brushes his neck might mean. Jim's arms slacken, then release him. “Yeah. Breakfast.” Then the warmth at his back is gone.

He listens to Jim's steps recede toward the kitchen, and lets out a shaky breath. There's a spider crawling along the outside of the window ledge, and he watches it until it rounds a corner out of sight. Then he watches a bird hop around in the narrow gap between his house and the next, and then he finally lets himself think.

 _Jesus H. Christ on a fucking cracker_ , is his first semi-coherent thought. _What was that supposed to be?_ is the next.

 _It was nice,_ supplies another part of his mind, and Leonard’s breath catches. He fiddles with the ring on his pinky and examines the cobwebs in the corners of the window, then, with a deep breath to quell a rising panic, he turns toward the kitchen.

Jim has the fridge open and is leaning forward, investigating its contents. He looks up when Leonard enters and gives him an uncertain smile. “What should we have?” he asks, his voice just a tiny bit shaky.

Leonard gives himself another five seconds to gather his courage. He breathes in and out, bites hard on his tongue, and crosses to the fridge to stand behind Jim. _Here goes nothing._

“I think pancakes would be nice,” he says unsteadily, and rests his hand on the curve between Jim's neck and shoulder.

Rather than freezing like Leonard did, Jim jolts upright, and cracks his head loudly on the bottom of the freezer door. He yelps and massages his scalp as he turns to face Leonard. Leonard leaves his hand where it is, and it slides along Jim's neck as he turns.

“Pancakes,” he croaks. “Right.”

Leonard’s eyes linger on the spot where Jim hit his head. “Ouch. You okay there?”

Jim’s smile is a little quavery. “I think I'll live, Doc. But my heart is racing a little, do you think that's anything to be worried about?”

Leonard puts on a frown as his fingers shift upward to take Jim’s pulse. “It sure is hurryin’,” he remarks. “Your pupils are pretty dilated, too. Tell me, have you been experiencing any —”

“Oh my God,” Jim cuts him off, “would you kiss me already?”

Leonard suddenly can't feel his limbs. “Uh,” he says. His voice seems wrong, and he clears his throat. “Uh, yeah. Sure thing.” And with a last breath and a silent prayer, he does.

He pulls away after just a moment, searching Jim's face. Jim rolls his eyes.

“For fuck’s sake, I'm not gonna _break,_ ” Jim says, and winds his arms around Leonard’s neck to kiss him again.

He's hungry, insistent, and Leonard feels himself go dizzy in a way he hasn't for a very long time. He stumbles backward a bit and runs into the opposite counter, which he braces himself against as he slips his hands around Jim's back. This is ridiculous. He's like a _teenager,_ for crying out loud, and then Jim's hand is buried in his hair and there are tongues involved and Leonard loses the capacity of rational thought completely.

Heaven knows how long it is before they break apart, gasping for breath. Their temples are pressed together and Leonard can feel sweat at the point of contact. He's not sure whose sweat it is. Probably a little of both.

“I'd better make those pancakes,” he says, because he can't seem to think of anything else to say.

Jim vibrates a little with laughter. “Yeah,” he agrees, “okay.”

Suddenly desperate for something to do, Leonard sets about mixing batter with fervor. If his whisking is a little more vigorous than is absolutely necessary, neither of them mentions it. His mind is buzzing helplessly, and he steadies himself by focusing on the exact measurement of baking powder and milk. He's almost tempted to count the grains of salt.

As he stands in front of the griddle, spatula in hand while the first batch of pancakes sizzles, Jim sidles up behind him. He rests his hands on Leonard’s shoulders, then slides them slowly down his back and around his sides to clasp them in front of his belly as he presses close. Jim takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and presses a kiss to the back of Leonard’s neck.

“Jesus,” Leonard breathes as he flips the pancakes. “Stop distractin’ me while I'm cooking.”

He feels Jim smile against his neck. He can't see Jim's eyes, but can imagine their impish glint. “Sorry,” says Jim, not sounding sorry at all, “am I _distracting_ you?” He pushes his nose up under Leonard’s ear, and Leonard damn near drops the spatula.

“It's just,” Jim continues, as his hands return to Leonard’s back and begin exploring it in detail, “I've wanted to do this for _so long_.”

Leonard focuses on pouring more batter onto the griddle. “How long?”

“Honestly?” Jim's hands pause. “Since the first time we met.”

“What, in the goddamn Build-A-Bear?”

“Don't impugn my place of work,” Jim chides, while his hands start massaging Leonard’s shoulders. “Not all of us can be fancy doctor people. But anyway, yeah. Why?” he asks, shifting forward so that his lips brush Leonard’s ear. “Don't you believe in love at first sight?”

“When it comes to you, I'd believe _lust_ at first sight.” Leonard leans a little into Jim’s touch.

Jim laughs. “Okay, you might have me there. But seriously, you had this whole hot dad thing going on, I was _so_ into it.” He pauses thoughtfully and adds, “Then I got to make you spin around and touch your toes, so, well, that didn't hurt.”

Leonard turns enough to frown at him. “Wait, was all that —”

“My standard heart ceremony procedure,” Jim says, raising a defensive hand and smirking. “Can't say I minded the view, though.”

“My God.” Leonard returns his attention to the pancakes. “You're incorrigible.”

“Mhm.”

There's a pause while Jim continues to work out the knots in Leonard’s shoulders and Leonard continues to flip pancakes. After a while, he says, “That's a long time to pine.”

Jim takes a moment to answer. “I didn't want to push.”

“What changed?”

Jim kisses his neck again, and Leonard can feel his grin. “I woke up in your arms,” he points out. “That kind of did in my resolve.”

“Hm.”

“I wanted,” Jim starts, and there's something fragile in his voice. “I didn't want it to end.”

Leonard flips the last trio of pancakes and turns the burner off, then rotates in place. Jim watches him, an unfamiliar expression in his eyes — something like a question — and Leonard almost breaks.

Instead, he wraps his arms around Jim and presses his face into his neck. “Neither did I,” he admits, his voice muffled.

The breath Jim takes is just a bit ragged. “Then why’d you end it?” he asks in a whisper.

Leonard has to search for words. “I panicked, I guess. I didn't wanna, you know. Overstep. I didn't know —”

“Yeah,” says Jim. “I get it.” He leans back enough to pull Leonard into another firm kiss, then jerks his head toward the plate of pancakes. “Shall we eat?”

***

Jim does the dishes. Leonard sits at the table and listens to the sound of running water, the rattle of dishes, Jim's off-key humming. His fingers beat a nervous rhythm on the edge of the table, a counterpoint to the continued buzzing in his mind.

When Jim finishes he appears in the doorway, wiping his hands on his jeans, and treats Leonard to a dazzling grin. “Wow,” he remarks, “this is. Real, huh?”

Leonard swallows. “I guess so.”

“ _Cool._ ” Jim seems to hesitate, and Leonard takes that as a sign that he should do something.

So, taking a moment to sequester the panic in the back of his mind, he gets to his feet and jerks his head to beckon Jim over. “C’mere.”

Jim comes, and Leonard takes him by the waist and pulls him close. “Huh,” Leonard breathes, then kisses him again.

He can't seem to stop being surprised. He's surprised that he has the guts to kiss Jim, surprised that Jim kisses him back, surprised that Jim soon has him pressed against a wall, surprised at the way his knees go wobbly when Jim slides a hand under the hem of his shirt.

“ _Christ_ ,” he breathes into Jim’s mouth. Jim nips at his lower lip in response.

“I, um,” Jim says a minute later, drawing back slightly. “I _really_ don't want to push, but shall we —” he jerks his head toward the bedroom door.

“Seems like I oughta buy you dinner first,” Leonard smiles, running his hands along Jim's waist.

Jim lets out a huff of air against his cheek. “I think pancakes count. Not to mention the thousand and one dinners you've cooked me since we met.”

Leonard captures Jim's mouth again and brushes a hand up his spine. “I think I can work with that logic.”

Jim grins into the kiss and tugs gently at Leonard’s hair. “Cool.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO. at last. for those of you who have been waiting with growing impatience for these two to quit pretending, here is your long-awaited reward. (unless the reward you were hoping for was smut, in which case...sorry, no.)
> 
> I've had this chapter (and the next) pretty much fully formed for weeks now, and I'm so excited to post it but also nervous about handling the turning point as well as it deserves. hope y'all enjoy it!


	13. And I Will Tell You Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some warnings here:
> 
> panic attack  
> mentions of:  
> \- alcoholism  
> \- child abuse  
> \- parent death  
> \- terminal illness (unspecified)

Jim, as it turns out, is prone to post-coital drowsiness. He curls against Leonard’s side, head pillowed on his shoulder and one hand tracing patterns on his collarbone. His eyes are closed, a sleepy smile on his face. Leonard has one arm around Jim's shoulders, the other folded behind his own head.

Gradually, the pleasurable haze fades from his mind. His ceiling comes into focus, and as it does, the buzzing returns in full force.

 _Shit_. Leonard feels the panic flood through his body, stiffening his limbs and clogging his lungs. He clenches his teeth, painfully aware of every part of his body that's in contact with Jim's — which is a lot. Too much. God, he needs to — he can't —

He wants to flee, wants to be gone _now_ , but he _can't_ wake Jim, so Leonard extricates himself with agonizing slowness, untangling their legs and sliding a pillow under Jim's head to replace his shoulder. Then he rolls out of bed, pulls on his pants, and stumbles to the bathroom, where he shuts the door as quietly as humanly possible before bracing his elbows on the edge of the sink and dragging his hands through his hair.

 _Shit_. His breathing is quick and ragged. _Shit. Jesus fucking shit fucking Christ._ He can actually feel his heart hammering against his ribs. His blood pressure is probably astronomical.

He’s hot all over, and not in the good way, so he turns on the tap and splashes cold water on his face. A little in his armpits too, for good measure. That helps a bit, but he's still shaking, his mind still a slurry of whirling anxiety.

He's so out of it that he doesn't notice the door opening, doesn't realize Jim has joined him until he glances up and sees two faces in the mirror. The buzzing in his ears gets louder, but he forces himself to swallow and say, “I thought you were sleepin’.”

“You've been laboring under the delusion that I'm a deep sleeper,” Jim says, his voice casual. “I'm actually just really good at faking it.”

Leonard doesn't say anything, just grips the edge of the sink.

“What's wrong?”

“I —” Leonard gulps. “I can't — what the _fuck_ did I just do?”

“ _You_ didn't do anything. Not alone, anyway,” Jim reasons. “And I dunno about you, but I thought what _we_ just did was pretty great.”

“That's not —” he gestures helplessly.

“ _You didn't do anything wrong_ ,” Jim insists. He's talking quietly, but his tone brooks no argument. “Okay?”

Leonard shudders, then slumps. “I — okay.”

“Can I touch you?”

Leonard nods, and closes his eyes as he forces himself to relax into the feeling of Jim's hands on his back and shoulders. He slows his breathing, counting the seconds of each inhale and exhale, and systematically loosens each tense muscle in his body. By the time he's done, he feels...if not _calm_ exactly, at least not like he's just fallen off the Empire State Building.

Jim seems to sense this, and his hands come to rest. “I'm sorry if that was too fast,” he says in a rush. “I shouldn't have pushed.”

Leonard shakes his head wearily. “You didn't. I just — God. It's been a long time, and you're —” he shrugs. “You're so _young_ , and you're my best friend, and I just. I don't wanna fuck anything up.”

Jim's arms slip around his waist, and he presses his face into the back of Leonard’s neck. “You didn't. You won't. I mean, obviously I can't promise this won't all go to shit, but if we fuck it up, we fuck it up together. Yeah?”

“...Yeah. Okay.” Maybe he can believe that, if he tries real hard for a long time.

“So,” Jim goes on, leaning back. His voice is lighter. “Do you always have panic attacks after sex? Not that it would change anything, I'm just curious.”

Leonard laughs weakly. “Only on special occasions.”

“Well, then, I'm flattered.” Jim runs a hand up and down his shoulder blade, brow slightly furrowed, then smiles, a touch bitterly. “Not like I'm a poster child for mental health myself.”

Leonard looks up at that, because he's never heard Jim admit that before.

“Did I never tell you about my fucked-up family history?” Jim looks surprised. “Even after Sam died?”

Leonard shakes his head. “You didn't say much.” He frowns. “Actually, I don't think I knew his name until now.”

“Well, no time like the present, right?” Jim sighs, runs a hand through his hair, and sits on the toilet. “Sam looked out for me,” he begins. “When we were kids. My dad died the day I was born — it was a long labor, and he had to go pick Sam up from kindergarten. There was a drunk driver near the school.”

Leonard sucks in a sharp breath. He thinks of Joanna, and is desperately glad he's alive to see her grow up, even from a distance.

Jim watches him, as though he knows what Leonard is thinking, before he continues. “Mom was never the same after that. Sam was old enough that he remembered her before — he said it changed her completely. She was never a hundred percent there for us after that, so Sam did what he could to take care of me. He was my rock when I was little.

“When I was two and Sam was seven, Mom married Frank. He was okay at first — we didn't love him and he didn't have much time for us, but he wasn't awful or anything.”

Jim pauses. It seems like he's unsure how to go on, so Leonard prompts gently, “What changed?”

“Mom got sick.” Jim combs a hand through his hair. “I was six when she got the diagnosis, so I didn't really understand what it meant. Sam was eleven. He knew.

“As Mom got weaker” — Jim shrugs — “Frank kind of took over more and more. It got so it was his house, rather than ours. I guess Mom being sick was hard on him, cause his drinking got worse and worse.”

“Was he —” Leonard forces himself to swallow around the tightness in his throat. “Was he violent?”

“Sometimes. More as time went on.” Jim rubs his knees. “Those were bad years. Sam and I kind of drifted apart. Guess he was too busy looking after himself to spare much time for his kid brother.” Another shrug. “He left on his eighteenth birthday.”

“You woulda been…”

“Thirteen.” Jim’s eyes are getting just a little glazed.

“And he just left you there?” A thrill of anger swirls in Leonard’s gut.

Jim looks up at him, and his gaze clears a bit. “I don't blame him. He did what he had to, for himself. Went to Philadelphia, got a job. Wound up married with a kid. Not so bad, until he died.”

“But you —”

“Yeah,” Jim says, “I was on my own then. Frank got worse, or maybe it's just that I was his only target.” He presses his palms together. “Mom died when I was seventeen. Those last few months were the worst, but then I turned eighteen and left like Sam did. Hitchhiked, mostly. Hopped some freight trains. Picked up odd jobs on Craigslist to afford food. Bounced around for a couple years before I wound up in San Francisco and settled down.”

“Why San Francisco?” It's not exactly a cheap place to start a new life at the age of twenty.

Jim smiles slightly. “Met a man in a bar. Seems to be a pattern with me.” He meets Leonard’s gaze for a second. “This guy, Christopher Pike, he picked me up off the floor after a pretty spectacular fight. Basically told me to get my shit together and wound up sort of taking me under his wing. He's the one who got me the Build-A-Bear job,” Jim adds.

“Sounds like a good guy.” Leonard examines Jim. “You still talk to him?”

“He's one of my professors.”

Interesting. “What subject?”

“Astronomy.” Jim smiles. “We've got that in common.”

Leonard gives him a small smile and reaches out to grip his hand. Then he lets out a slightly weak laugh, which makes Jim look at him in mild alarm and maybe a hint of hurt.

“What's funny?”

“Sorry. Sorry.” Leonard squeezes his hand. “It's just that between my relationship trauma and your family trauma — well, we make a hell of a pair, don't we?”

Jim grins too, at that. “The very picture of well-adjusted adulthood. We should get a trophy.” He considers. “Or we should go to therapy.”

“Yeah, that would probably be the responsible thing.”

“You know anyone?”

“I do, actually.” Leonard leans back against the wall. “I could give you a referral.”

Jim nods. “Let's both make appointments today?”

“Sure. Good plan.”

Leonard takes Jim's wrists and draws him to his feet for a kiss. “Hey. Thanks.”

“Mm. You too.”

“Anytime, darlin’.”

***

A little while later, they lie in Leonard’s bed and try to figure out what exactly they're doing. Jim props himself up on one elbow and his eyes roam Leonard’s face as he talks.

“I want — I want _you,_ Bones,” he says, with a nervous lick of his lips. “Not just sexually, I mean, but — God, I loved waking up in your arms. I want that. And I want — I want to make pancakes, and go on silly picnic dates, and bicker over the TV remote. You know? I want all of it.”

Leonard looks at Jim and runs a hand down the side of his face. He lets out a breath. “I want that too,” he admits, rolling onto his back. “God help me.”

“So —” he can hear the hopeful smile in Jim's voice. “We're gonna give this a shot?”

“Yeah.” He looks across at Jim again, and his breath falters. “Yeah, I think so. God help me.”

“You said that already,” Jim grins. “How many times do you have to ask for help?”

Leonard chuckles. “Oh, it helps to repeat yourself. Never know when the Almighty’s listenin’. Why do you think good Christian children have to say the same damn prayer every night?”

“I see.” Jim nods sagely, then regards him curiously. “Do you pray?”

Leonard shrugs. “Sometimes. Not a lot anymore. Not really sure who I'm prayin’ to when I do.” He shifts his head. “You?”

“Just once.”

“Really?” Leonard arches an eyebrow. “When was that?”

“This morning.” He smiles and his eyes flick to the doorway. “Before I went out and hugged you in the living room. I prayed to anyone who was listening that I wouldn't screw this up.” His smile widens. “Guess someone heard.”

“Or maybe,” Leonard suggests, “you got it right all by yourself.”

“Mm.” Jim lies down properly, and his eyes drift closed. “You had something to do with it too, you know.”

Leonard smiles, then glances at the clock and gives a start. “Shit. I gotta go to work.” It's too late to take the bus — he'll have to order a Lyft. And he should grab something for lunch.

“I was supposed to be at work three hours ago,” Jim murmurs into the pillow, opening his eyes again and grinning at him.

“Seriously?” Leonard shakes his head incredulously. “You never miss work.”

Jim hums, then leans up and kisses his jaw. “I think it was worth it, just this once.”


	14. New Growth

On a break a few hours later, Leonard gets a chance to check his phone and finds a series of messages waiting for him. They're all from Nyota.

_ What's this I hear?? _

_ FINALLY. _

_ I swear, if you hadn't gotten your head out of your ass in the next week, I was going to break all my promises and do some serious meddling. _

_ You're an incredibly oblivious man, Leonard McCoy. _

_ And hopefully now a very happy one. _

_ I know you're at work cutting people open but I really want to yell at you about this. Call me when you're free? _

Leonard laughs, leaning his forehead on one hand, and hits the call button. Nyota answers immediately. “Len?”

“I've only got a few minutes, so yell fast.”

She makes an indecipherable noise. “Tell me what happened?”

“Hasn't Jim already told you?”

“Well, yes. But I want to hear your side.”

“That what they teach you in your Comm classes?”

“Exactly. This is me studying for the midterm. So spill.”

Grinning, Leonard gives an abbreviated account of the morning’s events. Nyota is a good audience, even over the phone, not interrupting but making occasional encouraging noises to let him know she's still listening.

When he's done, she asks, “How do you feel about all this? It must seem pretty sudden to you.”

He considers that. “Thrilled. Shocked. Overwhelmed.” He pauses. “Honestly, still pretty scared about it all. I suck at relationships, Ny. Always have.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, they've all ended in total disaster, for one thing.” He rubs the bridge of his nose and admits, “I don't think I could handle it if that happened with Jim.”

“Would it be worse than any of the other times? Even Jocelyn?”

“Yeah, it would.” No doubt about that. “It — Jim's so important to me. He’s my best friend. And I don't have a ton of friends at the moment.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I just — Jim's different, that's all.”

“If he's so different, maybe things won't go the way they've gone before,” Nyota says, and damned if that isn't perfectly logical.

Leonard opens his mouth, but doesn't get to reply before a voice from behind interrupts him. “Who's Jim, and why is he different?” He whirls in place to see a nurse he's worked with a lot, Christine Chapel, entering the break room.

“Uh —” He checks the time. “I have to go. Nyota, do you mind filling Chris in?” He thrusts the phone at Chapel as he walks by and she takes it with a baffled expression.

As the door swings shut behind him, he hears her say, “Hello. Um, who is this and what are you filling me in on?”

When she returns his phone to him a little while later, she's wearing a curious smile but doesn't say anything. There’s another text from Nyota:  _ You know about self-sabotage. Don't give up on this before it has a chance to go anywhere. You and Jim are both amazing people, give yourselves some credit. _

He smiles and puts the phone back in his locker before getting back to work.

***

A few days later, they all sprawl around the living room of Jim and Spock’s apartment. Leonard has a hand on Jim's leg and is enjoying the feeling of Jim's fingers at the nape of his neck, toying with the fine hairs there. On his other side, Nyota is lounging and brushing a hand through Spock’s hair where he sits cross-legged on the floor.

“I still can't believe you knew about this all along,” Leonard says, maybe a little grumpily.

“I still can't believe you didn't,” Nyota replies. “Jim's been all over you for eons.”

“Yeah, but that's just what Jim  _ does _ . Pretty sure I saw him hit on a pigeon once.”

“Right here, Bones,” Jim mutters, giving his neck a little pinch. “And in my defense, I was drunk, and it was a very pretty pigeon.”

Leonard grins and squeezes his leg, then turns back to Nyota. “I mean, I've seen Jim hit on you and Spock plenty.”

“Oh, sure — early on, when he wasn't in so deep. I don't think he's so much as winked at me since June, and he hasn't proposed a threesome since April. It's all been focused on you.”

“ _ Still _ right here.”

Leonard turns and leans over to kiss Jim's cheek. “Sorry, darlin’.”

Jim smiles. “Really, though. I put so much effort into flirting with you, I’m amazed you ignored it for so long. And maybe a little offended,” he adds thoughtfully.

“If it makes you feel any better, I feel plenty foolish for it now.”

“You two are  _ unbearably _ cute, you know,” Nyota comments. “Look what we've been missing out on.” She nudges Leonard with an elbow. “Oh, by the way, I like your nurse. Christine? She was sweet. We should have her over sometime.”

Leonard grins. “Sure, but at my place. This apartment is cramped enough for two, I don't know why we keep puttin’ four of us in it.”

Spock glances over. “Given that two of us live here, it is often more practical —”

“Point taken. Still, I think five would be pushin’ it a little too far.”

“Yes,” Spock says, “I agree,” and a grin spreads across Leonard’s face.

“Well, that might just be a first.”

***

Back at Leonard’s place that night, the two of them sit on the couch, beers in hand, one of Jim's playlists playing on Leonard’s laptop. Jim has his left leg slung over Leonard’s right, and Leonard has allowed his right hand to slip around Jim's waist, keeping him close.

Jim hums along to one of the songs, bobbing his head and tapping Leonard’s ribs in time, then interrupts himself to say, “Oh, guess what?”

“Hm?”

“Your scheme is working.” He nods at the bottle of beer in his hand.

“Um. What scheme?”

“You know, beer.” When Leonard continues to look blank, he elaborates. “They very first time we hung out here. You said you were gonna teach me to be more discerning about alcohol.”

He raises an eyebrow. “And?”

“And I am! The other day I was working on a group project with some classmates and we drank Bud Light, and I  _ hated _ it!” Jim takes a smug swig of beer. “I don't know how anyone can stand to drink that swill.”

Leonard laughs and pokes him in the leg. “You sound mighty pleased with yourself. I'm very proud.”

“As well you should be.” Jim kisses his cheek, and Leonard turns his head to catch the next kiss with his mouth.

The first time they hung out here. It seems worlds away, the awkwardness and unfamiliarity of it all. It's hard to imagine not knowing Jim, not feeling comfortable around him, having no idea of the drawn-out roller coaster of emotions Jim would take him on. He'd been so alone back then, so lost in this city, so determined to stay that way. How quickly things change.

He thinks of Spock and Nyota, too — the ease with which they accepted him as part of the group, the way he became friends with them without really even meaning to. Such good people.

That sparks another thought and he frowns, fiddling with his beer bottle.

“Bones? What is it?”

“Oh, I was just thinkin’ —” He gives Jim's waist a pinch. “If Nyota knew all this time, did Spock know, too?”

“Of course.” Jim grins. “He and Nyota talk about everything, I mean  _ everything _ . And even if they didn't, Spock notices a lot about people. You'd be amazed the kind of gossip he can figure out just watching people.”

“When did you tell Nyota, anyway?”

“I didn't. Well, not of my own volition.  _ I  _ was determined to nurse my unrequited love in private, but she and Spock cornered me and got me to talk. I think that was…” He squints at the ceiling. “June, maybe? It's hard to keep track. It's been so long.”

Leonard sets his empty beer bottle on the coffee table and leans in to kiss Jim's neck. “Guess I've got some catchin’ up to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *discretion shot*
> 
> in which Nyota is all of us


	15. Something Old, Something New

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> probably worth a warning for some pretty mild homophobia.

They share the news with Jo that Sunday. Jim would usually be at work, but he trades a shift, insisting that it's fine despite Leonard’s protestations that he doesn't need to go to the trouble.

Just before the call, they sit on the couch and try to soothe each other's nerves.

“She already adores you, you know,” Leonard points out, nudging Jim's knee. “She's hardly gonna react badly to the prospect of havin’ you around more.

Jim looks unconvinced. “If you're so sure of that, why do you keep looking at the clock like you're expecting an airstrike at two?”

Leonard shifts. “Just anxiety,” he mumbles. “Irrational, you know. It'll be fine.” When Jim raises his eyebrows slightly, he sighs. “Okay, maybe I'm a little nervous about shakin’ up her family situation again. The divorce was hard enough, she was only three, and telling her that Papa’s datin’ someone new just seems like a lot for a five-year-old.”

“Are you sure you want to — I mean, we don't have to tell her, if you think —”

“No. No, shh.” He takes Jim by the chin. “Jim, darlin’, I'm not interested in hidin’ you from anyone. Least of all my daughter.” When Jim still looks doubtful, he insists. “She's a smart kid. She can handle it.”

“Well, then —” Jim smiles and looks at the time. “I think we'd better call her.”

Jim sits out of the first part of the call, letting Leonard greet Jo and chat about her week for a few minutes. She's full of news about her new school, and Leonard is still learning the new cast of characters from St. Irene’s, so that topic keeps them occupied for a while.

When Joanna runs out of adventures to tell him about, she folds her hands on the desk and says, “What about you, Papa?”

He glances across at Jim. _Here we go._ “Well, I — I actually have some news, sweetheart.” He beckons Jim with a jerk of his head, and Jim settles in beside him on the couch. “Do you remember my friend Jim?”

“Uh-huh!” She nods emphatically. “He brought cookies.”

Leonard laughs and exchanges a glance with Jim. “Yeah, that's right. Good memory. Well, Jim and I are — we're dating now. He’s my boyfriend.”

In the background, there's a clatter that sounds very much like a pot being dropped in a sink. Then a door squeaks open and closed. Obviously Jocelyn is not above eavesdropping.

Leonard schools his grimace and returns his attention to Jo. “Do you know what boyfriend means?”

“Course I do.” She looks completely unfazed. “I had _two_ boyfriends, before Mama put me in a school with just girls.”

“You did?” Leonard blinks, then lets out a laugh. “I guess you had me beat. So —” he hesitates “— you're okay with this?”

“You do you, Papa. You do you,” she replies, with all the sincerity of a five-year-old who's learned a new phrase but doesn't entirely understand what it means. “I'm gonna have chocolate cake tonight!”

Having a conversation with his child, Leonard reflects, is a little like trick-or-treating with your eyes closed. You never know what you're going to get, but you can be fairly sure it's going to be something sweet.

***

A few hours later, on the couch next to Jim, Leonard stares at a text from Jocelyn.

_What the hell are you playing at?_

Eventually, he writes back, _What are you talking about?_

_You know perfectly well. Boyfriend? Since when are you gay? What kind of sick game are you playing?_

Leonard sighs loudly, and Jim looks up from the book he's reading. “Everything okay?”

“Good question, I'll let you know if I figure it out.” Jim frowns, and Leonard gestures to his phone. “Jocelyn’s bein’ weird about the whole boyfriend thing.” He looks down and starts typing a message.

_Ok, first, it's not a joke. Jim is my boyfriend, better learn to live with it._

_And I'm not gay, I'm bisexual. Always have been. Turns out you don't know everything about me._

_Satisfied?_

Several minutes pass in tense silence before Jocelyn’s next message appears. _Why did you feel the need to tell Joanna?_

That's easy. _I'm her dad. Jim's a part of my life. I'm not going to keep my life secret from her._

_I'm just not sure it's appropriate._

Resisting the urge to throw his phone, Leonard takes a deep breath and starts typing again. _You have custody and that means you get to raise her how you like for the most part. But I'm sure as hell not going to hide my relationship from her just because you haven't outgrown your homophobic upbringing. That's not your call._

_Oh, now I'm homophobic. Thanks._

_Would you have reacted like this if I was seeing a woman?_

She doesn't reply and Leonard slumps back, dropping his phone on the coffee table. At Jim's curious look, he nudges the phone toward him with a foot. “Go ahead, take a look.”

Jim reaches out to pick up the phone and scrolls to the start of the conversation, then back down more slowly. His eyebrows rise higher with each message.

“Wow,” he says when he's done, setting the phone down again. “I can see why you two got divorced.”

Leonard laughs without much humor. “Yep. Two peas in a pod, me and her.”

Jim sighs, then pats Leonard’s knee and gets to his feet. “Come on. I believe you were going to teach me to make risotto?”

***

Leonard meets Jim on campus one grey afternoon, to accompany him to a casual dinner date at a well-recommended restaurant. He keeps his hands in his pockets as he threads his way through crowds of young people fresh out of class. Some of them look like they still belong in high school. For that matter, some of them probably _are_ high school students, taking community college classes to boost their college applications. Leonard feels old and very out of place.

He finds Jim outside the library, as planned. Jim doesn't see him right away, being involved in a conversation with a middle-aged man Leonard can only guess is one of his professors. He steps in next to Jim and touches his back. “Hey there.”

Jim turns to him and smiles. “Hey.” He gives Leonard a swift kiss of welcome, then Leonard turns to the other man and holds out his hand.

“Afternoon. I'm Leonard McCoy.”

The stranger glances at Jim as he shakes Leonard’s hand, and there's a little twinkle in his eyes when he says, “A.k.a. Bones, right?” When Leonard opens his mouth to respond, he continues, “It's good to finally meet you. I'm Christopher Pike, you can call me Chris.”

There's a name he's heard before. “Then it's good to finally meet you, too. From what I hear, I might never have met Jim if it weren't for you. Thanks for lookin’ out for this rabblerouser.”

“Likewise.” Pike smiles warmly. He considers them for a moment. “Say, if you boys get a free evening sometime, you should join me and Phil for dinner at our place.”

Surprised, Leonard blinks at this man who barely knows him. “I, uh — that sounds nice. Thank you, sir.”

Pike wrinkles his nose. “You're not my student, enough with the honorifics.” Then he claps them both on the shoulder. “Well, I won't hold you up any longer. Shoot me an email about that paper, Jim. You two enjoy your evening.” He flashes them a slightly mischievous smile as he turns to go, and Leonard looks at Jim with a raised eyebrow.

“Did he just wink at me?”

“There's a reason he and I get along so well,” Jim says, with a wink of his own.

“He seems like a good guy.”

“He's fantastic. Should I be worried?”

“Sounds like he's off the market,” Leonard says lightly. Then he kisses Jim soundly and adds, “So am I, by the way.”

“Good, I'm counting on you to buy dinner tonight.”

“Always said you were a golddiggin’ scoundrel. Come on, I'm famished.”

Jim slips his hand into Leonard’s as they walk, and Leonard holds it tight to steady the flutter in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did I mention that the rest of this fic is pure, sickening fluff? no? well it is. Jocelyn beong a bit of a shit in this chapter is pretty much the last thing that is NOT marshmallow sweet.
> 
> that said, I have a couple angsty one-shot sequels in the works, so if you thrive on conflict, you will have that too. but for now, let these boys be happy for once!


	16. Puppy Love

In the dim light filtering through the blinds, Leonard lies on his side and catalogues the features of Jim’s face by sight and touch. Hairline. Eyebrows. Nose. Cheekbones. Jaw. Lips. Jim smiles against his fingers, and Leonard moves his hand to the back of Jim's neck to pull him forward for another kiss.

When they've stopped kissing but are still lying nose-to-nose, the warmth of their breath mingling in the air between them, Jim opens his eyes. Even in the low light, Leonard thinks he can detect a shimmer of blue.

“Hey, Bones,” Jim says, barely more than a breath.

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

Leonard smiles. It's surprisingly easy to run his hand down Jim's arm, wind their fingers together, and murmur, “I love you too, darlin’.”

“Mm,” Jim grins. “Not to ruin the moment or anything, but _wow_ does it turn me on when you call me that.”

Leonard laughs aloud and rolls onto his back. “Well, I hate to be a tease, but I gotta be up early and I would like to be well-rested.”

“Yeah,” Jim sighs, “me too.” He squeezes Leonard’s hand, then lets it go and turns onto his other side. “Spoon me?”

Leonard rolls toward him and wiggles until he can wrap his arms around Jim, their legs tangling together. He presses his nose to the back of Jim's neck, then can't resist leaning up to purr directly into his ear, “Sweet dreams, darlin’.”

Jim groans and elbows him in the ribs.

***

They take BART to within walking distance of Chris Pike’s place in Oakland. On the way, Leonard quizzes Jim.

“His husband — Phil, right? Do you know him?”

“Yeah.” Jim looks down. “I, uh — I actually lived in their house for a few weeks, back when I first met Chris. They let me stay in their spare room while I looked for a place to live.”

“You never mentioned that.”

Jim isn't meeting his eyes. “I'm...not exactly proud of that part of my life.” Leonard touches his arm, and he rallies a little. “Anyway, Phil’s great. He's a doctor, actually.”

“Really? What field?”

Jim squints at the window. “No idea. I think he gave up practicing a while back and took up teaching instead.”

The idea of having a fellow doctor to talk to is something of a relief, and Leonard uses it to steady himself until they're on the doorstep and Jim is knocking while Leonard grips the bottle of wine and hopes he made a good choice.

When Pike — _Chris, he told you to call him Chris —_ opens the door, barefoot in a threadbare sweater and grass-stained jeans, he's wearing a welcoming smile that encompasses them both. At his heels is a dog, maybe a golden retriever, who gives an excited whine and slips past Chris’s legs to jump on Jim.

Jim laughs and scratches the dog’s ears. “Hey there, Ophiuchus! I missed you too, buddy! How's life treating you, old boy?”

At a word from Chris, the dog reluctantly releases Jim and falls back to all fours. While Ophiuchus turns to investigate Leonard, Chris gives Jim a long hug, then accepts the wine from Leonard with a thank you and a pat on the back. Something about him is very reassuring.

“Philip!” he calls in the direction of what must be the kitchen. “Company's here!”

“Coming, Christopher!” says an answering shout, which is shortly followed by a smiling man with grey hair and twinkling blue eyes. Phil gives Jim a hug of his own, then Chris and Jim take off toward the dinner table, dog in tow, leaving Phil and Leonard to get acquainted.

Phil holds out a hand. “Hi, Leonard. Phil Boyce. It’s good to meet you.”

“Pleasure,” Leonard replies distractedly, eyeing the other man as he shakes his hand. He frowns. “You seems familiar. Have we met before?”

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” Phil quips, with a boyish grin. “I was at the UCLA vascular surgery symposium last August. As I recall, you gave a very interesting talk about aorto-femoral bypass procedures.”

Leonard has to raise an eyebrow at that. “That's some memory you've got.”

“You made yourself easy to remember when you stormed out of Doctor Puri’s talk on anti-platelets, yelling about how he was ignoring years of work by Helena Pang just because it didn't match up with the results he wanted.”

“Oh.” Leonard looks at the floor and feels heat rise in his cheeks. “Yeah, that sounds like me. Always with the great first impressions.”

Phil laughs aloud. “To be honest, I was delighted. I'd been telling Puri for months he should be incorporating Pang’s work in his results, rather than sweeping it under the rug. The man’s a brilliant doctor, but his pride —” Phil is shaking his head.

“He’s a colleague of yours?”

“He's the man who talked me into going to med school. He was also my boss for a couple decades. We keep in touch.”

Leonard whistles. “Puri’s pretty well known. Feels like meeting a celebrity.”

“Or a celebrity's friend, anyway.” Phil turns and leads Leonard toward the dining room, where Chris and Jim are engaged in a quiet conversation over wine. Ophiuchus is circling the table, tongue out and tail wagging. “A celebrity whose talk you walked out on, for that matter.”

Jim looks up as Leonard takes a seat next to him. “Who’d you walk out on, Bones?”

He grunts. “This asshat of a — oh, sorry.” He looks guiltily at Phil, who gives him a wry smile.

“Don't worry,” he says, pouring himself a glass of wine. “I promise I won't tell him what you said. In fact, I won't tell him I've ever met you. He's still mad about it, you know.”

“Really?” Leonard reaches for the bottle of wine. “And I thought I knew how to hold a grudge.”

“Hey, Phil,” Jim puts in, while one hand slips into place in the small of Leonard’s back. "Chris tells me you two are doing some travel planning.”

“Oh, yes,” Phil beams, one hand drifting down to pet Ophiuchus’ head, “you know about my sister in Germany?”

Jim nods, listening avidly, and Leonard notices his anxiety at this unfamiliar situation start to fade. Jim's hand remains at his back, his thumb rubbing just enough that Leonard can feel the motion through his sweater and shirt. Chris looks at Jim the way a proud father might, his face touched with the occasional soft smile when Jim's attention is focused elsewhere. And Chris and Phil, well, they look at each other the way Leonard feels when he looks at Jim. He wonders if Jim looks at him that way, too. Probably worse.

Dinner is comfortable, easy. Either Chris or Phil (or both) has put together a very respectable salmon, with crusty bread and green salad alongside, and the good food helps keep the conversation light. Ophiuchus wanders around under the table, bumping into people's legs, but doesn't beg. Leonard and Phil get sidetracked into medical discussions a couple times, but the other two roll their eyes good-naturedly (Chris) or make exaggerated gagging noises into their fish (Jim), until they stop. It turns out that Phil teaches at Berkeley, and one of his star pupils a few years back was none other than Christine Chapel. He asks about her, and Leonard promises to pass on his greetings.

By the time they clear the table, Leonard has two glasses of wine in him and has unwound considerably.

They pass around a box of fancy chocolates for dessert — “Leftover birthday present,” Phil explains, “Chris is always trying to fatten me up” — and then Chris takes Jim out back to take a look at the telescope he's working on. Ophiuchus follows them at a trot.

The coil of anxiety in Leonard’s gut, so recently unspooled, winds tight again as Phil sits down opposite him with a wooden case in his hand. “What's that?”

Phil considers the question as he opens the box. “Old trick for getting people to talk to me. How do you feel about martinis?”

Leonard stares at him. “Uh. I got nothin’ against ‘em.”

“Good.” Phil goes quiet as he sets about making two drinks with supplies from the case. He passes one to Leonard and watches him while they each take a sip. Leonard can't figure out where to rest his eyes.

“So,” Phil says at last, “you met Jim at a bar, right?”

 _What?_ Leonard blinks. “Uh — no, actually, we first met in Build-A-Bear. The bar was our second meeting.”

“Oh, yes, Build-A-Bear. You were there with your — daughter?” At Leonard’s nod, he continues, “How old is she?”

“Five. Phil, what —”

“And her mother?”

Okay, he would _really_ like to not talk about Jocelyn. “Didn't work out. Hold up a minute,” he adds, penny dropping. “Are you doin’ the whole concerned-father routine, trying to make sure I'm good enough for Jim?”

Phil’s features split into a grin, but he keeps his tone serious as he asks, “What are your intentions toward my husband’s unofficial surrogate son?”

“Jesus.” Leonard laughs and leans forward to rest his head on the table. “You really had me goin’ there.”

“You haven't answered the question.” When Leonard looks up, he finds something new in Phil’s expression. Something almost fond.

“Only the best. Scout’s honor.”

“You love him?”

Leonard meets his gaze steadily. “I sure do, sir.”

Phil grins again at that, and downs the rest of his martini. “Well, I think that's enough of that,” he remarks, reaching across to clap Leonard on the shoulder. “Come on, let's go find our astronomers.”

There’s a wide wooden deck out back. Chris and Jim are standing close to a half-finished telescope at one end, leaning on the railing and talking in low voices, while Ophiuchus noses around in the yard below. All three look up when Phil and Leonard emerge. Chris pats Jim on the shoulder and crosses to them, pulling Phil into a quiet conversation, and Leonard goes to Jim.

“Hey there,” he says, putting his arms around Jim from behind and resting his chin on his shoulder. The house is up a hill and the deck faces west, so that they can see out over the lights of the East Bay to the dark spread of the bay, crisscrossed by the glowing threads of bridges, and the incandescent glow of the peninsula beyond.

Jim leans his head into Leonard’s. “Hey yourself.”

“Good people you found here.”

“Yeah.” Jim smiles. “I give thanks every day to the four guys who beat me up in that bar when I met Chris.”

“ _F_ _our_ guys? Jesus, Jim.”

“Hey, I never claimed to have healthy coping mechanisms.” Jim leans back against Leonard’s chest. “I'm glad you like them.”

An unexpected pressure against Leonard’s leg makes him look down to see Ophiuchus there, nosing at his knee. He removes one arm from Jim's waist to pet the dog.

“Hey, pup. Nice to meet you. Lovely evenin’, isn't it?”

Jim laughs and turns around, squatting to gather the dog into his arms. Ophiuchus licks his face. “Ophie here was great company while I was healing from that fight. Kept me company every day.”

Leonard crouches down too and scratches the dog under the chin. “Then I should thank you, Ophie. Good boy.” He shivers. “It's gettin’ too cold out here for my Georgia blood. C’mon, let's go inside.”

They leave an hour or so later. Chris, Phil, and Ophiuchus all come to see them off at the door, and hugs are had all around. Before he releases Leonard, Chris says softly, “Welcome to the family, son.” Ophie paws at his leg as if to emphasize the point.

All the way home, Leonard feels safe and relaxed in a way he hasn't been for years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there. are your teeth rotting out of your head? not yet? well don't worry, there's plenty more where this came from.


	17. Here With Me

Thanksgiving dinner takes place at Leonard’s house.

At everyone else's insistence, they do it potluck-style, so that Leonard doesn't have to spend the two days leading up to it staving off a mental breakdown in the kitchen. Jim nags him until he agrees to restrict himself to making the turkey (which includes stuffing and gravy, of course) and a sweet potato casserole.

He also makes a cherry pie, but that can't be helped.

They agree to invite Christine over, too — she's recently broken up with her fiancé and doesn't have anyone else nearby to spend the holiday with. Leonard assumes at first that Nyota will want to spend the day with her family, but it turns out that her parents both have to work that afternoon. Leonard assures her she can bring her little sister along.

Leonard is finishing up a holiday call with Jo when Jim arrives. He comes in without knocking, balancing a huge bowl of mashed potatoes, a bottle of wine, and a bottle of sparkling apple cider.

He sniffs appreciatively as he kicks the door shut. “Hi, Bones. You been cooking baby angels in here or something?”

“I dunno, do turkeys grow up to be seraphim?” Leonard leans around to see him and gestures at the kitchen. “Set your stuff down and come say hi, Jo’s here.”

“Oh!” Jim hurries to do so and joins him on the couch. “Hey, Jo. How's it going?”

“Good.” She pouts and crosses her arms. “‘Cept Mama won't let me eat more pie. I only had three pieces! _Small_ ones!”

“Oh, dear.” Jim grins and looks at Leonard. “And what did your Papa have to say about that?”

“ _He_ said Mama wants what's best for me an’ she's just doin’ what's best for my health.” She adopts an exasperated, mocking tone.

“And I stand by that,” Leonard agrees. “You're lucky you're with your mom, I woulda cut you off after two pieces.”

Jo _hmph_ s and says nothing.

“Hey,” says Jim, “think on the bright side. The less pie you eat tonight, the more you have for leftovers later. And you know the first piece is always the best.”

She tilts her head at him. “Are you gonna eat lots of pie?”

“I'll eat some. But I think your dad might cut me off after two pieces, too.” Jim grins and nudges Leonard. “He’s always telling me off for eating too much junk food.”

“But you're a grown-up! You can't get bossed around.”

“You think that matters to your dad?” Jim leans close to the screen and says conspiratorially, “You know, I bet he'd boss around the Queen of England if he got the chance.”

Joanna giggles at that, her anger about the pie forgotten. It's not long before she has to go get ready for bed, and they hang up.

“Nice job there,” Leonard comments as he gets to his feet and stretches. “Even if it was at my expense. You really think I'm gonna cut off your pie intake? On Thanksgiving?”

“Hmm.” Jim leans close and trails a hand down Leonard’s spine. “I think you like me skinny.”

Leonard steps on Jim's foot to shut him up.

Christine arrives next, carrying a pumpkin pie and a Tupperware of green beans. She seems nervous, which is understandable, but happy, and Jim sets to work making her feel at home in typical Jim fashion — which is to say, he chats up a storm with such easy charm and genuine interest that it's impossible for her to feel out of place for too long. Leonard gets to setting the table for six (it’s a little cramped; he hadn't been envisioning this occasion when he bought the table), and tosses the napkins to Jim so he can do his fancy folding while he talks.

Spock and Nyota show up a few minutes later, with young Kamaria in tow. Spock is carrying a platter of stuffed squash, a container of vegetarian stuffing, and a bowl of cranberry sauce, while Nyota has her arm around her little sister, who stays a half-step behind and looks around shyly.

Jim spots his next target within seconds and swoops in, crouching to get on her eye level. “Hi, there. It's Ria, right?”

She nods quietly.

“I'm Jim. I'm a friend of your sister's. She's told me a lot about you — is it true you won first place in a robotics competition?”

Her face lights up at that and she starts talking excitedly, glancing up at Nyota. Nyota smiles and nudges Ria inside, where Jim sets her up with a glass of sparkling cider and listens avidly.

“I see what you mean,” says a voice next to Leonard, and he jumps. It's Christine, watching the exchange with a contemplative expression and spinning a wine glass between her fingers. “He really is different, isn't he?”

Leonard can do nothing but nod.

Dinner goes well. Everyone eats way too much, of course, and they all compliment each other's cooking and promise to exchange recipes. Jim gives Leonard a pointed look when the cherry pie is brought out, and Leonard just shrugs and mutters, “My gran came to me in a dream.” Thanksgiving without cherry pie just wouldn't be the same.

Christine and Ria both relax considerably over the course of the evening. When the table is cleared and the guests are reluctantly pulling on their coats and shoes, complaining about the absurd amount they ate and the even more absurd amount of leftovers they're all taking home, Ria even gives Jim a shy hug. He returns it with a smile and makes her promise to let him know next time she's in a competition, so he can come cheer her (and her robot) on.

Leonard walks Christine out to her car and gives her a brief hug. “Thanks for comin’ tonight.”

“Thank you for having me,” she replies with a smile. “I think I needed this.”

“Well, you're welcome anytime. You've got my number.” He steps back as she climbs into the car. “Night, Christine.”

“Goodnight, Doct — Leonard,” she corrects herself at his raised eyebrow, and closes the door.

***

One foggy Saturday when they both have the morning free, they go to the farmer's market down at the ferry building and wander between stalls, enjoying the smells and indulging in no small number of free samples. They get samosas and a mango lassi from the Indian food vendor and eat them standing at the railing, looking out at the glittering grey water of the bay. Leonard is mildly impressed to see a few kayakers out this late in the year.

When they've finished their food, they take to exchanging languid kisses that still taste of mango and spices. Leonard winds his hand into Jim’s hair, gratified by the quiet hum of pleasure this elicits. He pauses when he feels an unexpected discontinuity in Jim's scalp, and pulls back. “What's this?”

Jim doesn't protest as Leonard leans forward to investigate, but he does grimace in what looks like shame. “Nothing. Old scar.”

Leonard parts his hair with his fingers and raises his eyebrow. “This isn't old. Less than six months, at a guess. When did this happen?”

Jim looks shifty. “I, well —”

“Jim. Please tell me?”

He closes his eyes briefly and sighs. “Okay. You know how I was kind of messed up after my brother died?”

“I seem to recall somethin’ of the kind.”

“Right. Well, after I left your place, I sort of...fell back into some old habits. You know, sleeping around, getting into fights, the works.”

“I see. And?”

Jim sighs again. “This guy threw a bottle at my head. He missed,” he adds quickly, at the look on Leonard’s face. “But the bottle shattered against the wall behind me, and one of the shards kind of...ricocheted. Got me pretty good.”

“I'll say.” Leonard frowns. “Spock never mentioned you comin’ home bruised or bloodied.”

“I'm good at hiding my injuries.”

Leonard clenches his jaw at the implication — that Jim has had cause to learn how to hide his wounds, probably since childhood. “And you just decided to take care of this yourself? You can lose a lot of blood from a head wound.”

“Yeah, I'm aware.”

Leonard releases Jim and rubs his own temple, turning to face the ocean. “Jesus. I'm sorry.”

“What’ve you got to be sorry for?”

 _Plenty,_ Leonard thinks, but there’s a specific thing he's trying to apologize for. “I knew you...I wasn't really there for you, after Sam died. You left and I knew things weren't right, but I couldn't figure out what to do, so I just let you go through it alone.” Leonard rubs his hands together. “I'm — really sorry about that.”

Jim looks at him for a few seconds, then back at the water. “I didn't exactly make it easy.”

“ _Fuck_ that.” He's half-surprised by the vehemence of his own response. “It ain't your job to make it easy. Not when you're hurtin’ like that.”

“It wasn't your job to take care of me, either.”

“Course it was. I was your friend.”

They watch a gull take off from the water and rise screeching over the crowds of tourists. Jim scuffs his shoe against the ground.

Leonard turns around and leans back against the railing. “Speaking of,” he says, “what was it that made you leave? Did I —”

“Nothing you did,” Jim says quickly. He frowns at the horizon, gathering his thoughts. “I — it's stupid.”

“It's not stupid.”

Jim flashes him a look. “You don't even know what it is.”

Leonard shrugs. “Don't have to.”

“Okay.” Jim sighs softly. “Okay. It's — you know you had your call with Joanna, the day before?”

He'd forgotten the exact timing, actually, but he nods. “Sure.”

“Well —” Jim swallows. “I overheard you talking to her, and laughing, and I just. I never had that, you know? Sam was the only person who ever really felt like family, and he was dead, and I just felt like — like there was this huge part of life I'd missed out on, you know? And I'd never really have it.”

“Jim,” Leonard starts, but Jim shakes his head.

“At first it was just this self-pity thing, I guess. Felt sorry enough for myself that I actually managed to cry for a bit. And then we stuffed ourselves with ice cream and I sort of forgot about it.”

Jim readjusts his arms on the railing and takes a breath. “Then the next morning you were gone, and I was going to find something to read, but I — there were those pictures on the wall. All those pictures of Jo, with you and a bunch of people I don't know, and it suddenly hit me that you had this — entire family, this whole group of people you belonged to, and I was just this random kid you felt sorry for, but I didn't _belong_ , and I couldn't stand it, so I left.” He grips the railing tightly, and Leonard thinks he can see a glimmer of tears in his eyes. “I just couldn't keep feeling like that.”

“ _Jim_ ,” Leonard says again, and reaches out to pull him into a hug. He presses his face into Jim’s hair. “You do belong, you hear me, darlin’? You absolutely fucking belong with me, for as long as you want to. You know that, right?”

There's a stiff, jerky nod against his shoulder. He holds Jim tighter.

“All those people in the pictures, I barely see them anymore. A couple times a year, at best. You're a bigger part of my life than any of them, ‘cept Jo. You're —” he swallows thickly. “You're my family now, okay? And I'm yours.”

Jim quiets at that, and pulls back to study Leonard’s face. After several seconds, he leans forward again with an exhale, tucking his chin into Leonard’s shoulder. “I felt that,” he says. “You know how I came over on Sam’s birthday, when Jo was here, and we watched Moana?”

“Mhm.”

“Jo was on one side of you and I was on the other, and you put one arm around her and then you put the other around me, and I — it felt so nice. And I thought, this must be what it's like to be part of a family. I hadn't — I never felt that before.”

Leonard closes his eyes and runs a hand up and down Jim's back. “You are,” he murmurs, listening to the water and the gulls and the chatter of the passing crowd. “You are a part. You and me both.”

Jim takes a shuddery breath and grips him tight.


	18. A Great Warm Welcome

The invitation comes as a complete surprise to Leonard.

He’s unwinding at home after a long shift, nursing a brandy and a headache, when the door bursts open to herald Jim's arrival. Jim shrugs off his jacket and bounds over, clambering over the back of the couch to sit next to Leonard. “Bones! Guess what?”

“Hm?”

“We're going to Santa Cruz for Christmas!”

Leonard blinks at him and rubs his forehead. “We are?”

“Well, not for Christmas _day_ , they have plans with Chris’s family. But he said we can come stay for a few days before!”

“Slow down, Jiminy Cricket.” Leonard sets down his glass. “Why are we potentially going to Santa Cruz for not-quite-Christmas?”

Jim is bouncing slightly in his seat. “Chris and Phil have a place down there! They rent it out as a vacation home mostly, but sometimes they spend a few days there with friends or family. And Chris said they want to have us over for a few days!”

“Seriously? They've only met me the one time.”

“Chris has met you twice,” Jim corrects him. “Besides, they like you.”

“Well, that's awful generous.” Leonard smiles, then frowns. “But Jo's gonna be here that week.”

“I know. Chris said she's more than welcome, but they understand if you don't want to bring your five-year-old on vacation with people you barely know. I didn't accept yet, just told him I'd talk to everybody about it.”

That gets his attention. “Everybody?”

“Oh, yeah, Nyota and Spock are invited too. Ny took one of Chris’s classes with me last year and he really liked her. Oh, and Christine, Phil really wants to catch up with her.” Jim leans back. “The two of them never had any kids, so I think they just try to adopt every young person who crosses their paths.”

“Lucky us.” Leonard smiles wryly. “Though I'm not exactly a spring chicken anymore.”

Jim leans over to kiss his nose. “Young enough for me.”

***

And so Leonard finds himself crammed in the back of Christopher Pike’s car five days before Christmas. Jo is in the middle seat, Jim on her other side, and Ophiuchus the dog is on Phil’s lap in the passenger seat, head out the window. The trunk is packed with all of their bags for three nights, and there are more items tucked around their feet, so that Leonard can barely move. He holds Jo’s hand and stares out the window to keep from getting carsick.

It's usually an hour-and-a-half drive to Santa Cruz from San Francisco. With holiday traffic and a couple of pit stops, it takes nearly three. By the time they leave the freeway and turn onto city streets, the novelty of the drive has worn off and Jo is crankier than a crocodile, whining and complaining about everything she can think of. Leonard isn't feeling so hot himself, and he grimaces at Chris in the rearview and mouths, “Sorry.” Chris just smiles and shakes his head.

Everyone feels better once they're out of the car. The house is on an oceanfront drive, not far from the boardwalk, and is doubtless worth way too much money to bear thinking about. As soon as they're inside, Ophiuchus sets to exploring, nose to the ground. After a quick snack of apples with peanut butter, Jo joins him, all her complaints apparently forgotten.

Spock, Nyota, and Christine show up half an hour later, in Christine’s car. They all have other plans and responsibilities and are only staying the one night before heading back to the city.

It's the first time any of them will have met Jo, and Leonard stands in the doorway to greet them.

“I've told her you're her auntie and uncle,” he tells Spock and Nyota as they pass. “Hope you don't mind.”

Spock raises an eyebrow, but Nyota smiles and squeezes Leonard’s hand. “Why would we mind? That's very sweet.”

“Indeed,” Spock agrees, to Leonard’s surprise. “I am...honored that you would consider me part of your family, though somewhat confused. We are not —”

“DNA ain't what makes a family, kid,” Leonard tells him with a clap on the shoulder, and guides the two inside. Then he catches sight of Christine hurrying up to the door, and holds it open. “You're Auntie Chris, by the way.”

“Well, I would hope so,” she says, raising her eyebrows at him as she passes. “I didn't come all this way just to be left out of the family.”

***

Jo takes to everyone immediately. Chris and Phil dote on her as if she's their own grandchild, which makes Leonard feel all warm and gooey, and Nyota slips easily into her big-sister role. Christine, who has neither children nor younger siblings, is a little tentative at first, but Jo’s toothy grin and infectious energy soon have her playing make-believe like a pro. Even Spock seems to like her, and barely flinches when she hops onto the couch and crawls into his lap.

“So,” Leonard says with a smile, “what's on the agenda today? Beach? Christmas cookies?”

“Not _cookies,_ ” Jo says, like that's the silliest idea she's ever heard. She sits up in Spock’s lap. “ _Cupcakes._ Duh.”

Jim glances at Leonard and grins. “Well, _duh._ Who would make cookies when cupcakes exist?”

Phil and Chris keep the kitchen well-stocked, but even so there are a few things they need from the store. Phil and Christine take a car to the nearest supermarket and come back shortly with a bulging paper bag full of everything on the list and a lot of things that weren't on the list. They both shrug at Leonard’s questioning eyebrow.

“It’s Christmas,” Christine says simply. “We're allowed to indulge.”

Making cupcakes with eight people, one of whom is five years old, turns out to be a chaotic and very messy experience. It should make Leonard want to tear his hair and kick everyone else out of the kitchen, but for some reason he doesn't. Jim keeps giving him soft, grounding touches, and Leonard feels...good. He's actually having _fun,_ somehow.

At last, the cupcakes are finished and frosted, and the kitchen regains some approximation of cleanliness. They all return to the living room and squeeze themselves into the available seating, munching on cupcakes, until Jo (in Nyota’s lap now) sits up suddenly and announces, “We gotta watch a movie!”

“What movie do you want to watch, honey?” Nyota asks, nudging her.

“Hmm…” She taps her chin seriously. “Hercules! That's my favorite movie.”

Leonard is pretty sure that wasn't her favorite movie two weeks ago, but who is he to judge? Sometimes life just moves that quickly.

As the movie plays, Leonard takes a moment to look around the room. Jim is tucked up against him on the couch, one leg folded under him. Jo has abandoned Nyota’s lap to sprawl across the two of them, her attention raptly on the TV. Chris and Phil are on Jim's other side, their hands clasped together on Phil’s knee. Christine, with a smear of green frosting on her upper lip, is curled in one armchair, while Nyota sits in the other, her hand on the back of Spock’s head where he sits cross-legged on the floor. Everyone looks happy.

Phil catches his eye as he looks at them all, and smiles. He must nudge Chris, because Chris glances at his husband and then over to Leonard, and the expression on his face is so warm and fatherly that Leonard wants to hug him. He settles for squeezing Jim's shoulders and brushing his other hand through Jo’s hair.

_We made it, kid. We did good._


	19. On Trust, Junk Food, and Anglerfish

The next day, after a lazy morning, all of them but Phil and Chris take to the boardwalk. Leonard, who’s only been to Santa Cruz once before, has never braved the boardwalk — and for good reason, as he discovers. Even in winter, the place is noisy and bustling, the air thick with the smell of fried food mixed with the salt-and-fish odor of the sea. It's all a bit too much, or would be, if he didn't have Jim bumping shoulders with him and Jo’s small hand clinging to his, Christine hovering a pace behind and Spock, hand in hand with Nyota, looking around at everything as if he's never seen anything like it and isn't sure why it exists.

Jim and Jo, of course, are equally excited by the place. They insist on getting some ungodly deep-fried something that should never, in Leonard’s opinion, been allowed anywhere near a deep-fryer. He might have been able to say no to one or the other of them, but their combined pleading proves too much for him. He'll have to work on that.

(The ghastly thing is delicious, of course. Leonard eats at least half of it himself.)

He scoops Jo up onto his shoulders when she’s done eating and she clings there, sticky fingers grabbing at his hair. When he looks over at Jim, Leonard finds him watching them with a peculiar expression. Almost awed. Jim meets his eyes with a lopsided smile, then steals Leonard’s phone out of his pocket and snaps a photo of them. He shuts off the screen and returns the phone to Leonard’s pocket, pausing only to kiss Leonard’s cheek and Jo’s knee in passing.

“Love you,” he whispers, then turns and strikes up a conversation with Nyota before Leonard can respond.

There's an old and famous roller coaster on the boardwalk, and Jo wants desperately to ride it but is considerably shy of the height minimum. Through a concerted group effort, they manage to distract her from that with the fact that there are so many rides she _can_ go on, and don't those spinning teacups look like fun, or maybe the pirate ship? Leonard feels queasy just looking at them all, and is relieved when Jim volunteers to take her. Nyota goes along too, and the rest of them settle in to enjoy the beach.

It's chilly enough to be a bit uncomfortable when they sit still, and Leonard zips up his jacket to block out a light breeze.

Spock regards him curiously. “Are you cold?”

“Aren't you?”

“Negative.” Spock is sitting cross-legged and straight-backed as usual. “I am quite comfortable. Would you like to wear my jacket?”

Leonard blinks. “Uh — well, I — Christine?”

She shakes her head, grinning faintly. “Oh, no, I'm fine. I grew up near Seattle, I'm used to the chill. But being from Georgia, you must be just _freezing_ out here, don't you think, Spock?”

“I have observed on several occasions that the doctor's tolerance for cold —”

“All right,” Leonard growls, just to shut him up. “Gimme the damn jacket.”

When they meet back up with the rest of the crew a while later, Jim takes one look at Leonard and grins. Slipping past Christine to lean close to Leonard, he asks in a whisper, “is that _Spock’s_ jacket?”

Leonard readjusts the fabric for the fiftieth time. It's a little tight around the shoulders, but it _is_ warm. He returns Jim's grin, if a little grudgingly. “You don't think he was makin’ a move on me, do you?”

“Hm.” Jim taps his chin. “Hard to say with Spock. He’s a pretty wily guy when he wants to be.”

“What’s wily mean?” Jo asks from near Leonard’s hip, and he laughs as he picks her up.

“It means sneaky and clever. Like playin’ a trick.”

“Or like... _this!_ ” Jim adds, swooping in to tickle Jo’s belly. She laughs and kicks at him until he retreats.

“Papa?” Jo asks when she's able to breathe again. They're leaving the bustle of the boardwalk, returning to quiet neighborhood streets lined with trees and the occasional dog-walker.

“Hm?”

“How come Jim isn't my uncle?”

Leonard stops in his tracks and exchanges a long glance with Jim. “What do you mean, honey?”

“I got Uncle Spock an’ Uncle Phil an’ Uncle Chris...an’ _Auntie_ Chris an’ Auntie Ny,” she reels off, counting on her fingers. “So how come Jim's just Jim?”

Leonard swallows.

“Is Jim my Papa now too?”

“Um.” He looks at Jim, who's watching him with eyes nearly as wide as Jo’s. “That's, uh — well, maybe someday, sweetie. It's early days yet.” _I've still got plenty of time to screw this up._ “Listen, Jo, do you wanna go play with Auntie Christine? I know she missed you while you were off makin’ yourself sick on those whirligig machines.”

Jo pouts as he sets her down. “Are you gonna talk about me?”

“Only good things,” Jim promises, squatting down to look her in the eye. “We just need some time to stand here and talk about how much we love you and what a wonderful kid you are. Okay?”

She sticks out her bottom lip, but runs off to join the other three, who’ve drawn ahead while Jo distracted Leonard from the task of walking.

When she's out of earshot, Leonard pulls Jim to his feet and into a kiss. “God, I love you. The hell’d I do to deserve you?”

“That's supposed to be my question,” Jim says with a little grin. “‘Maybe someday’? Jesus, are you _trying_ to stop my heart completely?”

“Only for a couple seconds at a time. I don't have an AED on hand.”

Jim laughs and kisses him again, smiling as he pulls away. “So.”

“So,” Leonard repeats, rubbing his temple. “What are we gonna tell her?”

“What do you want to tell her?”

“Me? It's your identity bein’ debated, Jim, I don't think I get much of a say.”

“Huh.” Jim runs a hand through his hair and frowns. “I dunno, what's the proper title for your-dad's-boyfriend-of-a-few-months-who-loves-you-very-much-but-doesn't-have-any-official-relationship-to-you?”

“Not sure I've seen that one in the dictionary.”

“And of course,” Jim says, “you keep track of every word in the dictionary, don't you?”

“Naturally. Me and Spock get together twice a month to memorize all the new entries. On slow days, we also do dramatic readings of some of the old ones.”

“Naturally.” Jim nods, then drops his teasing tone. “Honestly, I'm not coming up with anything. Just leave it at Jim for now?”

“Good enough for me.” He looks around. “We better hurry to let Jo know, they're probably halfway home by now.”

***

Spock, Nyota, and Christine leave in the early afternoon. Everyone clusters on the front porch to see them off, exchanging hugs and holiday wishes until Nyota insists that they really have to get going if Christine is going to make her shift in time. Phil hugs Christine extra long, and she promises to keep in touch.

Chris releases Nyota with a clap on the shoulder. “I would say I hope to see you in one of my classes again, but I hear this spring is your last semester with us. So instead I'll just say good luck, and I hope to see you around. Don't be a stranger.” He tilts his head at Spock. “That goes for you too, you know. You ever get tired of all the lab work and want to come look at the stars for a change, I'm your guy.”

“I will keep that in mind,” says Spock with a small nod and a hint of a smile.

“Thank you, Chris,” Nyota adds. “I appreciate it. Other Chris, come on, you'll be late!”

“I can drive fast,” says Chrstine, but she says a final word to Phil and hurries to her car with Spock and Nyota in tow.

When they're gone, Jim heads out back to play fetch with Ophiuchus. Leonard fixes Jo a snack, after which she leaves to join the fun in the yard, while Leonard retires to the living room with Chris, Phil, and a very nice beer.

He can see the backyard out the glass door, and watches as Jo plunks down on the ground near Jim and he sits next to her, tennis ball forgotten. They're talking, and soon Jo is leaning against Jim and he's petting her hair in a soothing gesture. With their backs to the house, he can't see their faces, but it sure doesn't look like they're having fun.

“What is it?” Phil asks, noticing Leonard’s distraction. He turns to follow his gaze. “Oh.”

“Maybe I oughta go out there,” Leonard says, “see what's up.” He starts getting to his feet, but Chris holds up a hand.

“Leave it,” he advises. “If it's something you should know about, one or the other of them will tell you.”

Leonard sinks reluctantly back into his seat, but keeps watching as Jo curls closer to Jim's side. She seems like she's shaking, maybe crying. After a while, Jim picks her up in his arms and turns toward the house. Jo's face is wet with tears, and Jim looks pretty shaken himself. Ophie trots after them, ball in mouth.

When Jim slides open the back door, he meets Leonard’s eyes and jerks his head toward the stairs. Leonard excuses himself from the living room to follow Jim up to the room they're sharing. Jim sets Jo on the bed and Leonard closes the door behind them.

“So what's all this?” Leonard asks, looking between the two of them. “You two been plotting behind my back again?”

Jim sits next to Jo and squeezes her shoulder. “You can tell him, Jo, go on.”

She shakes her head and presses her face into his side, eyes shut tight.

“Yes, you can. Come on, Jo, _I_ can't explain it for you.”

“Hey.” Leonard sits on her other side and rubs her back. “Jo, honey, you know you can tell me anything, right?”

She pulls away from Jim enough to look up with big, puffy eyes, and speaks in a soft whisper. “I don’ like my school.”

“You don't — oh, Jo, darlin’, you weren't scared to tell me that?” When she nods, he sighs and pulls her to him. “It's okay, love. It's okay. Let's talk about it and talk to your mom about it and see if we can't find a way to make you happy, hm? How's that sound?”

She nods into his chest, and he kisses her hair.

“Jo?” He peels her away from him so he can look her in the eye. “I want you to understand that I am never, ever gonna be mad at you just for tellin’ me the truth about what you're feeling. Okay? I want you to always feel like you can be honest with me, ‘cause I'm always gonna want to help with whatever you're goin’ through. Do you think you can believe that, sweet pea?”

She nods again, and hiccups before leaning forward again, her head against his chest. While he rubs her back, he meets Jim's eyes and mouths, _thank you_.

***

“You okay?” he asks a while later, when he and Jim get a minute alone. “You didn't look so far from tears yourself, back there.”

Jim shrugs and doesn't meet his gaze. “Some stuff she said — it just brought up some memories, you know.”

“Like what?”

Jim rubs at his face. “She heard you and Jocelyn fighting on the phone, back in September. This whole school thing’s been on her mind for months. And she said —” Jim breaks off and takes a breath. “She said, ‘I don't want them to yell at me like that.’”

“Christ.” Leonard sucks in a breath. “Goddamn. How did — Jim, you know I would never —”

“I know. I know, and I told her that. It just...took me back, I guess.”

“Yeah. God, I'm sorry.” He wraps Jim in his arms, kisses his temple. “I'm so sorry, darlin’.”

Jim just shakes.

***

Jo asks Jim to read her a bedtime story that night. Leonard assures him he doesn't have to, but Jim waves him off and beams as he follows Jo to bed. Leonard doesn't argue — he's happy enough to get a break from reading _Frog and Toad Are Friends_ every single night. And the warm little smile on Jim's face when he emerges from Jo’s room is a bonus he’s glad to accept.

When they go to bed themselves hours later, Leonard catches Jim humming a line of music — a familiar melody, maybe from yesterday's movie. When he quirks an eyebrow, Jim smiles and sings the last few words aloud.

“ _I would go most anywhere to find where I belong._ ”

Leonard takes his hand and kisses the fingers one by one.

Jim brushes a thumb along his jawline. “I found it, you know. Thanks to you.”

“I think you mighta had somethin’ to do with it too, darlin’.” He wraps a hand around Jim's waist and tugs him over until he's lying full-length on top of Leonard, then buries his face in the crook of Jim's neck. “Sometimes,” he murmurs, “I wanna hold you so tight you'll just stick forever.”

“No argument here.” Jim twists his head to kiss Leonard’s neck. The he laughs, and the vibration travels right through Leonard’s ribcage. “We could be like anglerfish.”

“What about anglerfish?”

Jim chuckles again and folds his hands on Leonard’s chest, shifting down so that he can rest his chin on them and look him in the eye. “Well, they live in the deep ocean, you know? And there's not a lot of other anglerfish to mate with. So when they mate, the male just attaches permanently to the female — who's, like, twenty times bigger — and stays there as a lifelong source of sperm.”

“So you're sayin’ you wanna be my personal fanny pack of sperm? Always knew you were an old romantic.” He flicks Jim gently on the forehead. “Since when are you a marine biologist, anyway?”

“Oh, you learn all kinds of things when you live with Spock. Did you know mercury was used as a treatment for syphilis up until the twentieth century?”

“I think that one mighta come up in med school, yeah. Color me glad that's gone out of fashion.” He closes his eyes and lets the full-body pressure of Jim's weight ground him, slowing his breathing bit by bit. “Hey.” He leans up to kiss Jim’s forehead. “I love you.”

Jim rolls off him. Briefly, Leonard mourns the loss of that comforting weight, but it's worth it to be able to face Jim on his side and tangle their legs together while Jim runs a finger along his collarbone.

“What a coincidence,” Jim murmurs. His voice has gone sleepy. “I love you, too.”

“We have so much in common.”

“We should go out sometime.”

“Sorry,” Leonard grins. “‘Fraid I'm already taken.”

“Hm. Is he nice?”

“He's wonderful.”

“You love him?”

“Didn’t I already say that?”

“Your wonderful boyfriend probably wouldn't mind hearing it again.”

“I love you, Jim.”

“Love you too, Bones.” Jim yawns.

“Go to sleep.”

“You first.”

“If you insist.” And he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter came out so long y'all
> 
> the entire first scene was basically unplanned. i was like "yeah, i'll put in a couple paragraphs about their morning at the boardwalk" but NO, Spock had to go sharing his jacket and Jo had to go asking tricky questions and it just spiralled. i love them all.
> 
> editing to add that the whole Hercules thing is 100% inspired by aishahiwatari's comment, a bunch of chapters ago, about Jim and Jo driving Bones up the wall by singing Disney. hope you don't mind me totally stealing your idea, Aisha.


	20. Carousel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sobs quietly* I can't believe it's over

The five of them (six, counting Ophie) drive home together on the evening of the twenty-third. Traffic is even worse this time, and Jo is in even more of a mood by the time Chris drops them off at home with a last “Merry Christmas!” through the car window. The fact that she’s short on sleep thanks to a bad nightmare last night probably isn't helping.

She's all smiles and bouncing energy in the morning, though — which is good, because there's work to be done. The Christmas tree, bought before they left, is looking a little the worse for wear after three days with no water, but it'll spruce up just fine with some well-placed ornaments.

Leonard didn't do Christmas last year, and he sure as hell didn't bring any ornaments with him from Georgia. They had to go out and buy a bunch when they got the tree, and there's a bubble of something fizzy and warm in Leonard’s chest as he works out a decorating strategy.

When he mentions the feeling, Jim just smiles and leans against him. “I know what you mean. I don't think I've had a Christmas tree since I was about eight.”

Leonard gives him a squeeze. “I like startin’ traditions with you.”

“Think you'll keep me around long enough to make it a tradition?”

“A guy can dream.”

Jim kisses him warm and soft.

Once the tree is decorated, there are stockings to be hung and last-minute presents to be wrapped and Christmas Eve dinner to cook. It's a full day, and a happy one. Jim hangs a bit of mistletoe over the kitchen doorway to steal an extra kiss — “You coulda just asked,” Leonard points out as he obliges — and Jo waits under it until Leonard scoops her up and allows her to plant a wet kiss on his cheek.

“Lucky me,” Leonard muses aloud during a lull in the dinner preparations, watching Jim teach Jo his special napkin fold. Jim looks up, and Leonard gestures at them with a smile. “I get to have Christmas with my two favorite people in the world. That's somethin’ special.” Truth be told, he's still a little stunned Jocelyn let him have Christmas this year.

“Am I really one of your two favorite people?” Jim asks a little while later, grinning.

“Hm.” Leonard kisses the tip of his nose. “You know, on second thought, I think I prefer Spock. Maybe I'll go celebrate with him.”

“Spock’s Jewish.”

“Well, maybe he'll teach me how to make those latkes he stuffed us all with. I could eat _those_ for eight days and eight nights, I tell you.”

“Hm.” Jim breathes out and rests his chin on Leonard’s shoulder.

Leonard pokes him in the side. “All right, favorite boyfriend, let me go. I've got cookies in the oven that are gonna burn.”

***

Among all the other things that have to be done by Christmas morning, there's a special excursion to make. Leonard and Jim usher Jo to the door and they all pull on their shoes and coats and hats. There’s a definite nip in the air today.

“Where are we going?” Jo asks, frowning up at them.

“Somewhere real fun, I promise.” Leonard nudges her out the door and follows after. “Do you remember where Jim works, pumpkin?”

“Nuh-uh.” She shakes her head.

“You remember what we did for your birthday when you came out to visit?”

Her brow furrows. “That was a _looong_ time ago.”

Jim grins and crouches down. “Do you remember making your Doctor Nala?” The little lion stays in bed with her every night.

Her eyes widen. “You work at _Build-A-Bear_?”

“I work at Build-A-Bear.”

“ _Wow_.” She looks up at Leonard. “Papa, can _I_ work at Build-A-Bear when I grow up?”

“Absolutely.” He ruffles her hair. “I bet you'd be even better at it than Jim.”

Jim raises his eyebrows, but agrees. “You probably would. You know, one time I had this silly idea to have someone's dad do the heart ceremony ‘cause she was too scared, and do you know what happened then?”

“What?”

He pokes her in the tummy. “I fell in love with him.”

Jo wrinkles her nose. “Was that Papa?”

“Yep. You got me.”

“You're _silly,_ Jim.”

“Right again, Jamba Juice.” He gets to his feet and holds out a hand. “Ready to go make a new friend?”

“Yeah!” She grabs his hand. “C’mon, Papa, we're going!”

“Right behind you, darlin’.” He locks the door and follows them down the sidewalk.

***

Build-A-Bear is predictably packed for the holiday, but it doesn't seem to bother Jo, who weaves through the crowd like she was made for it. She picks out an actual bear this time, christens it Meg, and dawdles over scents and sounds for a good while before they reach the heart ceremony. Jim greets the young man — not much more than a boy, really — handling the hearts.

“Hey, Pavel. Didn’t expect to see you here today. Doesn't your family do Christmas?”

“We do.” He shrugs. “But I like to come in the afternoon and see all the happy families.” He glances over. “This is Leonard, yes? And Joanna?”

Leonard arches an eyebrow at Jim, who grins sheepishly. “I, uh, might've talked about you some.”

“Some? He does not shut up about you all day. I am glad you are finally together, so at least he is no longer pining.”

Leonard laughs at that, tugging Jim in by the elbow as Pavel talks Jo through the heart ceremony. Then it's on to costumes, which takes a full half-hour, and then to the checkout counter.

“Hey, Hikaru,” Jim says to the young man who rings them up. “Throw in my employee discount, would you?”

“On it.” Hikaru glances around, then grins conspiratorially and holds up his left hand. “Hey, Jim, check it out.”

Jim gives an exaggerated gasp at the ring on his coworker’s finger. “Oh my God! Ben finally asked?”

“We asked each other, actually. Classic gay situation. We were out on the beach down in San Luis Obispo, you know, visiting his family, and I got down on one knee and then he just burst into laughter and pulled out his own ring box. Everyone loved it.”

“Well, this way you both get nice rings out of the deal, right?” Jim ducks around the counter to give him a hug. “Congratulations, man. I'm so happy for you.”

“Thanks.” Hikaru hugs back, and his eyes flick to Leonard and Jo. “Looks like things are going okay for you, too.”

“Ah, they're all right.” Jim flashes Leonard a grin. “Okay, I'll stop holding up the line. Let's talk soon, though, yeah?”

“Definitely. I'm around, just text when you're free.”

“Will do.” Jim releases Hikaru and slips out from behind the counter, urging Jo and Leonard out the door. “Gah, that's such good news. He and Ben have been dancing around the marriage question for _years_ now.”

Leonard pinches his waist. “Is this you droppin’ a hint? ‘Cause if it is, you gotta work on your subtlety.”

“This is me being happy for my friend.” Jim narrows his eyes. “Hang on. Is this _you_ dropping a hint?”

“If I told you, that wouldn't be very subtle of me, now would it?”

“Come _on_ ,” says Jo, tugging at their hands. “I wanna introduce Meg to Nala!”

There's little arguing with that.

***

Christmas morning dawns cold and foggy, like most every morning in San Francisco. But the unimpressive weather does nothing to dampen the energy inside, where Jo pounces on their bed, squealing, a little shy of six a.m. Leonard groans and rubs his eyes, but once he's awake, Jim is almost as excited as Jo — and it's more impressive on him, since he's several times her size.

So Leonard has to get up, and pull the sticky buns out of the fridge to defrost before baking, and Jim makes hot cocoa while Jo pounds orange juice concentrate into water with a wooden spoon. Tired as he is, it's hard not to absorb a little of their energy, and Leonard catches himself whistling as he whips up a frosting for the sticky buns.

The morning passes in a flurry of food and stockings and presents that leaves the living room and kitchen both a complete mess by noon. Jo runs around the house in her present from Chris and Phil — a classic ugly Christmas sweater decorated with reindeer and snowmen — and a flowery top hat from her Granny Irma back in Georgia. Jim is already engrossed in the book Spock and Nyota gave him.

Leonard eventually manages to talk both his charges into both helping him clean up _and_ eating something that isn't pure sugar, which is half a miracle itself. The day quiets down after that, and Jo disappears into her room to try out her new coloring books. Leonard and Jim sink onto the couch with tired sighs.

“Man,” Jim groans, stretching. “Christmas is great and all, but it's a lot of work.”

“‘Specially when you're sharin’ it with a five-year-old,” Leonard agrees, propping his feet on the coffee table. He pauses, fiddling with his sleeve. “Hey, Jim.”

“Hm?”

“I didn't wanna ask you earlier and put you on the spot, but, uh — well, you've been spendin’ most of your time here anyway, and I just wondered if you’d be interested in makin’ it official.”

“What, like —” Jim gulps “— move in with you?”

“No pressure or anything,” Leonard adds quickly. “But yeah. I like having you around. Figured you might like makin’ this your home, instead of bein’ a guest all the time.”

He dares to meet Jim's eyes, and the depth of joy there makes him glad he did. “Bones,” Jim whispers. “Of course. Of fucking _course._ I genuinely cannot think of anything that would make me happier right now.”

This kiss is something special, full of promise. Leonard draws it out for a long while before pulling back. “So, you like the extra present?”

“So much.” Jim smiles and gives him another quick peck. “I love you _so much._ ”

“Right back atcha, darlin’.”

When Jo emerges from her room, she finds them lying squashed together on the couch, half-asleep. Leonard blinks himself awake when she approaches, arms folded. “Hey, sweet pea. How’re Meg and Nala?”

“Good.” She sweeps her hair back with one hand. “They're goin’ on a date, so I left ‘em alone. Papa, are you an’ Jim gonna get married?”

Leonard looks at the form dozing in his arms — tousled hair, face relaxed in sleep, a hint of a smile touching his lips — and gives the same answer he gave before.

“Maybe someday.”


End file.
